


Everyman Needs A Companion

by justpeach



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Hermione Granger, Dark Hermione Granger, Dark Magic, Dark Past, Death Eaters, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Hermione Granger-centric, Hogwarts, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Multi, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, POV Alternating, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-War, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, The Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter) is Terrible, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28388193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justpeach/pseuds/justpeach
Summary: Draco Malfoy is trying to navigate his life post war, selling his soul to the rundown auror’s office at the ministry of magic and ignoring his deep rooted feelings for a certain witch.Hermione Granger is having a hard time adjusting to her new reality, living in a world plagued by deatheaters on the run, with a ministry incapable of capturing them, she tries to figure out her next moves, whilst trying desperately to hide her feelings for a certain ex-Deatheater.It’s hardly a coincidence when the universe pushes them together.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 25
Kudos: 64





	1. I

17th November 2000  
The ancient trees hummed and rustled when the four aurors popped into the night.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Of course it's necessary."

"Every one of these we've had always ends up being a 13 year old Slytherin, who can't even fully produce the thing and cries when we arrive to tell them off."

"Well, let's hope the same can be said for tonight then."

The four aurors moved through the trees in single file, the first and last of them illuminating the path. They climbed the hilltop in silence, listening to the hooting owls and scuttling knarls. Once the first Auror reached the edge of the dense forest, he was deadly still. He pushed up his round glasses, to make sure he was indeed where he believed himself to be.

"Call Robards."

The three aurors in line made their way around him.

"Why, what did you see?"

Beneath the canopy of trees that obscured their vision was a grand building, its tall windows reflecting bright green.

"It's Malfoy manor."

In the sky, the shimmering green image of a snake twisted around a skull.

In the dead of night he heard it, a low rumble. The ceilings above raining dust onto dark wood floors. It took him longer than he cared to admit to react. Before he could even attempt to locate his wand, a green flash engulfed his bedroom. Lifting both hands to block the obscene light and shifting towards his window, he finally saw it.

"Draco."

He turned swiftly to see his mother, tearful in his doorway. Clutching her nightgown so tight it contorted her body into a small helpless figure.

  
"What's going on?" He pulled his curtains to protect them both from the blinding emerald.

  
"Draco- please do something. Get rid of it." She gasped as she spoke, each breath gradually getting shallower than the next. She was grasping the doorframe, her nails almost sinking into the wood with worry.

"I don't know- what is- I'm not-what is happening? This can't be real, I haven't seen one in years." Draco said, still shaking off his sleepiness.  
His mother was convulsing from her lack of breath, he glided over and sank her into an armchair.

"Otho."

A tiny figure popped into the darkness.

"Master."

"What's going on? Is someone in the house? Or on the grounds?"

"Otho is not knowing about the grounds anymore master, not since the wards is taken off."

"And the house?"

"No one in the house master."

"Hear that mother? Nobody in the house."

"Get rid of it Draco. You said- you said you saw one p-please, you-you said you saw one not long ago. Please- I cannot look at it."

"Mother that one was not real, it wasn't.... proper. It was just some kids; this one probably is too. I can go outside to check."

"Don't leave."

"I will be right outside; I'll get rid of it. Otho, please take care of my mother."

"Yes master."

Grabbing his wand and a jumper, he raced down the marble staircase towards the entrance hall. The green light had caked the entire house, even turning the blackest of objects a shade of swamp green.  
Draco swooped down the hallway with a swift pace that he could only attribute to the rigorous Auror training he went through. Perhaps that would be the only thing he thanked the ministry for, his quick and steady pace. He made to move toward the door when it suddenly burst open. Three of his ex-co-workers filled the empty space of the doorway and like a circus act, stepped aside to reveal Harry Potter, backlit by the green of the 'dark mark' above the manor. Draco sighed and took a step back towards a bureau in the hallway.

"Ah! Of course, I wonder when the day will come that my door bursts open and it's not Harry fucking Potter."

"Malfoy, good to see you too."

He nodded towards Reven, Jenet and Calily. Three men of the same dumpy stature and vague expression, with interchangeable hair colours of orange, yellow and black. It was inconceivable that they were in no way related.

"Why haven't you gotten rid of it yet?"

"We can't vanish this one, it's evidence. It’s the real thing...As I'm sure you know."

"Why would I know?"

Harry looked at him with as if it were obvious, Draco was instantaneously hit with the possibility that he may end up in cuffs at the end of this conversation.

"You can't possibly think that I- come on potter I was just- this is ridiculous! I had nothing to do with this."

"We need to clear you, no matter what I think."

"And how will you do that?"

"Robards is on his way, we're going to complete a full investigation."

As if it were triggered by his words, the sky behind Harry's head exploded into a burst of red.  
Draco stepped forward, red light pouring out of the skull as it fractured before his eyes, splintering in a thousand different directions, cascading down to the ground.

"What was that?" Reven was visibly shaking, stepping further and further into the hallway of the manor. Instead of recoiling, Draco pushed past Jenet and Calily and onto the doorstep, staring up at the crimson droplets.

"What is this?" he turned to Harry, who was already staring at him with a growing look of concern on his face.

"I don't know, let's wait for Robards and everyone else."

"Everyone else? Is there a congregation at my house I'm unaware of?"

Harry stared into the night, "Malfoy, I'd just stay quiet if I were you."

Later that night, Robards and Potter were mapping out the area that the dark mark had originally been cast from, Draco had finally settled his mother into a slumber and decided after much consideration to join them, mainly to pester Robards.

"So, what do we know?"

"Malfoy, it's really not appropriate in your position to be interfering with this."

"Is that my position as an exiled auror or ex Deatheater?"

Harry sighed, Robards flared his nostrils and Draco knew what that meant. An extremely formal telling off.

"As a resident of the property and one of the only former Deatheaters alive, out of Azkaban, and in the proximity, you are automatically a suspect in this case, as an ex auror you are forbidden to know details of this case. If you have any further questions please direct them to my colleague Mr Potter or to the auror department at the ministry of magic, for now I have to ask you to avoid interfering with our investigation and visit our evidence tent to give your account of the incident."

"Is there any room in your mind for the possibility that this could be a threat to me? To my family?"

One of the many reasons for his acting out during his auror days was because of the blind bureaucratic way of thinking that the ministry enforced. Aurors are trained to attend crime scenes, blame the nearest ex Deatheater or thief or generally shady individual, then close the case and celebrate at the pub. The lack of critical thinking or common-sense astounded Draco. It was clear to Draco that a mark that once represented him, violently exploding in the sky above his house was no coincidence. It was no surprise that Robards wished to ignore this detail, his contempt for Draco had reached a boiling point earlier in the year. According to Potter, Robards had faced Draco’s father a number of times in the field leading up to the final battle, coining the original phrase ‘the only good Malfoy is a dead one’.  
Robards had ignored him and returned to staring at the magical barrier he set around the crime scene. Potter had sent him a sympathetic look, but eventually turned away too.  
Draco had no choice but to meander over to the 'evidence tent'.

Robards and a huge team of magical analysts had arrived at the manor around three hours after the mark had fractured in the sky, they were still currently sweeping the house despite it being four in the morning. Draco had insisted that they clear his mother's suite first, so she could sleep off the panic she had felt all night. The analysts were always snooty middle-aged women, Draco was convinced that half the time they just wanted to snoop through other witches' things. As soon as they entered a room every drawer, window and door would be open. They were free to analyse any item they found 'suspicious' which in most cases was everything. They had managed to seize four necklaces, two vases, and seven books related to ancient curses from his mother's room before they grew bored and moved on. He could now see the necklaces bobbing through the air on their way toward the evidence tent and decided to follow. The tent was filled with the usual ministry dregs, portly men in ridiculous blue containment suits, haughty women giggling and gossiping to one another. They were all sorting through the belongings they had grabbed from the manor, Draco knew they wouldn't find anything, his house had been cleared of curses and dark artefacts at the earliest convenience after his trial. There was a man drawing out a three-dimensional map of the grounds in mid-air, his wand tip was currently gliding over the gazebo where Draco would play gobstones with the gardening elf when he was young. Draco couldn't help but notice how he was butchering the neoclassical architecture. On the surrounding tables were spell tracers, all of whom seemed to be smoking cigarettes. There was an unwritten rule in the ministry, that in order to fully integrate into a department you had to almost become an exact replica of your co-workers, this was of course most desirable for the ministry. Less individuality means more productivity, more objectivity, and less mistakes.

Draco noticed the far-left corner of the tent had been transformed into a room with two plastic tarps, with a makeshift sign stuck to the front. “Witness accounts” was written on a chalkboard in obscenely intertwined calligraphy, he knew exactly who it belonged to. He made his way over, ignoring the gossiping whispers as he passed each department and pulled back the tarp. There stood Hermione Granger, tapping her coffee cup with one hand, holding a cigarette in the other. She wore tight black muggle trousers, which were doing her many favours, and a white silk blouse with flowing sleeves. Her hair, unruly and puffy in her younger days, framed her porcelain face and high cheekbones in a now attractive way. Her curls had filled out, any former frizz was now tamed. He couldn’t help teasing her. Just a little.

“You look nice, very professional for Four in the morning.” He smirked as he moved into the makeshift room. She seemed to flinch at his voice.

“I must say Granger, the trousers are really doing it for me.” She hadn’t looked at him yet, she usually avoided that when she could. He took a seat on what he presumed was the interrogation table, snatching the cigarette from her thin fingers and taking a long drag.

“Well if there’s someone here that knows I didn’t cast a dark mark in my sleep it has to be you.”

She finally snapped.

“And why is that?”

On the rare occasions she did meet his gaze, he found that neither of them could tear their eyes away, she had a talent for occupying his stare.

“Don’t play coy Granger, you and I both know you’re above the ‘immediately blame the death-eater policy’.”

Holding his eyes, she snatched her cigarette from his hands and brought it to her lips.

“That was before.”

One year earlier

14th of July 1999

After the final battle at Hogwarts, Hermione assumed that life would be somewhat calm. However, after dedicating almost half her life to defeating a dark wizard, she had lost her grip on what reality was. Life was no longer war, but that did not mean all violence and hatred had ceased, that did not mean that life was now a fairy-tale and she would live happily ever after. Though there was a small period of calmness after Hogwarts, two weeks if she recalled correctly, Deatheaters had fled and were on the run. The efforts to catch them were dangerous, the ministry had underestimated the defences that Voldemort had once employed. This meant aurors were almost always unprepared and outnumbered whenever they were sent on a skirmish. It seemed the aftermath of war was just as violent as war itself. Fleeing Deatheaters were growing desperate, living in exile made them bolder, less afraid of the repercussions of their actions. People were killed every day, homes destroyed or ransacked for food. The ministry had dwindled numbers and were unable to contain the crime, their recruitment efforts were failing, so many witches and wizards wanted to keep a low profile and avoid the chaos after the years of war. In the aftermath, it did not seem to matter which side you were on; devastation was hitting everyone.

Hermione had been determined to take the diplomatic route in life after the final battle. One evening after finishing her eighth year she visited Kingsley at the ministry , the once bustling corridors empty, free of any noise. He greeted her with open arms and a bright smile, showing her a collection of death eater wands that Harry had acquired in his first weeks of field work. He boasted of Harry’s success, and not so subtly suggested that Hermione could achieve the same, if she wished to. The conversation grew less friendly when Hermione outlined her desire to stay away from battlefields.

“The truth is Miss Granger, our rebuild is taking longer than we thought. A lot longer. I cannot give you an exact date as to when the Department of International magical cooperation will be in a position to take new recruits. As of right now, we are exclusively focusing on our efforts to employ more individuals in the Department of magical law enforcement and this effort will continue for the foreseeable future. “

“I see. Are there any positions available for training in the Wizengamot?”

“Considering that most Wizengamot trials for the next year would exclusively be Deatheaters, I would see that as counterproductive.”

“May I ask why?”

Kingsley paused, a brief glint of humour in his eyes.

“Miss Granger, though I would love nothing more than for you to be the one to sentence those bastards, we have to at least pretend to give them a fair trial. Which would mean, unfortunately, that a witness would be unable to serve as a trainee member simultaneously.”

The sinister sneer Kingsley gave to finish his sentence made Hermione shift in her seat, uncomfortable.

“A witness? I haven’t even been called.”

Kingsley laughed a low laugh, some of the stress lines in his forehead seemed to smooth out. He flicked his wand to pour a tea and turned his head to offer one to Hermione. She declined.

“Although official invitations have not yet been sent, I thought it’d be obvious that yourself, Mr Potter and Mr Weasley would be integral to most of the upcoming trials.”

Hermione internally frowned. The pace of the Wizengamot had deceived her, she’d assumed that the lack of invitation for a year meant she wouldn’t be forced to relive her nightmares on a witness stand.

“Minister, I barely interacted with Deatheaters, I doubt I could name more than five individuals you have in custody. In fact, I believe most of those who I would consider myself ‘acquainted’ with are dead.”

“I’d say you’re acquainted with the Malfoys.”

Her brain stuttered over the name.

“I thought the Malfoys were to be acquitted on account of their aid to us? Harry said so.”

“They still have to stand trial Miss Granger.”.

Harry had ensured that Draco and his mother were to be placed on house arrest until their trial, he owed Narcissa Malfoy and Draco his life. There were however, vengeful individuals inside the ministry who had persuaded Kingsley to place all the Malfoys in Azkaban three months prior to their trial, citing ‘proper holding procedure’.

“I’d be happy to aid the dismissal of their chargers, if that is what you’re asking minister.”

Kingsley sat back, stirring the spoon in his teacup with his pointer finger.

“Of course, as you wish Miss Granger. Now, to the subject of a suitable job for you. If you are interested there are a few detective roles open at the DMLE, you would have to go through formal Auror training of course, but your official role would include less field work and more analysis. Primarily you would be accompanying Aurors on investigations, but I promise no skirmishes, you’d be analysing evidence and questioning suspects.”

Hermione mulled it over, it seemed like a sensible choice given the alternative, unemployment for the foreseeable future.

“And if I were to wait until International magical cooperation or the Wizengamot had a position for me how long would that take?”

Kingsley stared at her, mouth opening to speak then closing, then opening again, then closing. It seemed as if he did not even know himself. Before he could disappoint her with a wait time of 5+ years, she jumped the gun.

“I’ll take it, the DMLE position. When does training begin?”

“October, you’ll be expected to testify in the Malfoy trials in August so consider this your month notice.” He began to rise from his seat, stretching his hand to her.

“A pleasure as always Miss Granger, I’m certain you’ll make an excellent addition to the team.”

She took his hand and shook it gently, bowing her head to conceal her disappointment.

“Thank you minister.”

12th August 1999

  
Draco had what was left of his pride stripped away when Hermione Granger testified on his behalf. She’d stood in front of what was left of the Wizengamot, detailing his 6th year, how he’d stalk the hallways pale and alone, how she’d found him one night curled in a windowsill on the 7th floor, weeping. She retold the night at the manor as if he had been a hero, refusing to identify her, cowering behind a chair, and whimpering at the sound of her screams. The leftover members of the Wizengamot gasped when she dramatized him throwing his wand to Potter at the final battle, she knew how to put on a show. The truth was that he was a coward in every scenario she described, unable to help anyone, unable to protect his family. She had painted him as a confused boy, blinded by his upbringing and father, attempting to render him blameless in all his actions. ‘ _God at least potter had the decency to not overdo it’_ , he thought to himself.  
Curiously, she had not looked in his direction once for the duration of her over practiced speech, he could not say the same. In the past five years she had become more of a woman, he’d first noticed it in 4th year when she attended the yule ball, every one of his friends scrambling to find an insult and failing horribly. In their 5th year, on one particularly hot day in the summer term, she had unbuttoned the top three buttons of her shirt in the library and he had stared at her neck and clavicles for two hours, ignoring his potions homework. In 6th year he had watched her from a distance outside Slughorn’s Christmas party, feasting his eyes on the way her dress lifted to reveal the tops of her slender thighs whenever she walked. The only time he saw her in what was supposed to be their final year, was writhing on his floor underneath his aunt, screaming, but he’d rather not think about that one. She looked even more tantalising now, she’d adorned a tight skirt down to her knees and some sort of corseted blazer that drew his eyes to her waist for far too long. Her delicate hands had fumbled over the door as she was dismissed from the witness stand, he watched her scramble out of the room holding her breath until she reached the exit. For whatever reason, the Wizengamot believed it all, every last word, his ‘sentence’ was assisting the DMLE in capturing the rest of the Deatheaters for the foreseeable future, which meant he was to attend the Auror training programme. His mother had gotten off scot free the day earlier, the Wizengamot merely recommending that the heavy wards on the outskirts of the manor be taken off, and a thorough cleansing of any dark or cursed artefacts as soon as possible. His father’s trial was tomorrow, between the existing sentence he had failed to serve from the ministry break in from Draco’s 5th year, and the new charges listed against him, Draco had little hope that Lucius would walk away with anything less than 20 years in Azkaban, there would be no angel Granger or saint Potter to acquit him of his actions. Though he knew it would hurt his mother, the best thing for the Malfoy image was for his father to serve the time willingly, without hurling insults at the Wizengamot as they brought down the gavel.  
He was cleared and released earlier that evening and was greeted in the ministry atrium by his mother, he walked towards the floo rubbing the points of his wrists that were marked red from the cuffs.

“How are you mother?”

There was little point in asking, he knew all too well the physical and mental toll that his brief time in Azkaban had taken on him, he could see from her pale complexion and solemn face that it had done the same to her.

“I’m fine, we should talk at home”

“Has the lawyer spoken much to you about father’s trial tomorrow? Is he prepared?”

“About as prepared as he can be.”

Draco took that as a clear sign that his mother did not wish to speak about the trial, opting for silence as they passed the hole where a statue once stood. The family lawyer had played heavily on the idea that Lucius was the only Malfoy with true affections for the dark lord during Draco’s trial. Earlier in the year, when he and his mother were on house arrest, they had a particularly difficult and tense conversation with the Malfoy lawyer Percival Spreight, who had made clear that shifting blame to Lucius was a clear way to ensure Draco’s freedom, he had insisted that the choice was Narcissa’s, it seems she had chosen.

“I’ve instructed the elves to take the exterior wards off, the front door is still warded but the estate is to remain open to the ministry at their discretion.”

“Are we expected to host them whenever they feel like it?”

“Draco please, let’s just be grateful for the freedom we’ve been given.”

His mother was particularly jittery today. She was staring down at the marble floors as they walked, her voice low and quick. When they reached the floo, she firmly took his hand and pulled him inside with her.  
The manor was cold and deathly quiet, the hallway they arrived in was lit only by candles, the air felt distinctly less heavy than it had the last time Draco was here. His mother pulled her into his arms, squeezing him so tight he almost lost his breath.

“I really thought- I thought you’d be in there- gone, I didn’t think they’d let you.” She tumbled on her words as she spluttered tears onto his shoulder.

“It’s okay- I’m here, we’re out. We’re fine, we’re going to be fine.” He held her close, the first contact he’d had with her in three months. His first physical contact he’d had with anyone in three months.

“You need to thank Miss Granger, Spreight said her testimony helped the most.”

Draco said nothing.

“Do you want tea? Or Dinner? You must be starving, I nearly ate a whole loaf of bread when I got home yesterday.”

“To be honest Mother, I’m just really tired. Would you mind if I slept and joined you for tea in the morning?”

“No, of course. You should sleep.” She smiled longingly at him whilst holding his cheek in her right hand. “Draco, I’m going to the ministry alone tomorrow. It would be better for you to not be seen supporting your father.”

Draco stayed silent once more.

“You should take this” she placed his old wand into his palm, closing his fingers around it. His unused magic stinging his fingertips, “Mr Potter gave it to me after he testified for you, your room may need some… adjusting.”

With a nod and a kiss goodnight on his cheek, Draco climbed the marble staircase and ascended to his wing of the manor, there were noticeable scorch and scratch marks on the walls of the hall that lead to his room. Once he reached his door, he hesitated before twisting the gold handle. It seems that after taking him to Azkaban in May, some aurors had come back for some fun. His bookshelves were now merely planks of wood on the floor, books thrown into tall piles in each corner. His bed had been blown up in the centre, the feathers from his pillow caked the entire room. A wardrobe once filled with extravagant clothes, empty, in their place, piles of ash. His fireplace was relatively untouched, excluding the photographs on top. Charred holes replaced the faces of his father and mother, photographs of himself and his friends had been flung onto the floor and seemingly stepped on.  
The surge of anger caused a loud crack in his magic when he rolled his neck. Finally able to control his mind once more, he recollected his neglected occlumency walls and slammed them into place, raised his wand and set to fixing what was left of his bedroom.

13th August 1999

“Morning.”

“Hey Harry, long night?”

As usual after a night shift, Harry simply offered a grunt and grabbed the kettle. Hermione had moved into Grimmuald place after she had returned from Hogwarts, unbeknownst to her so had Ginny, Ron, Neville, George and Luna, so she spent most of her mornings searching the property postings in the daily prophet. Hermione folded her paper in half to witness a half asleep Ginny shuffle into the kitchen, sink into the chair opposite her and place her head upon the table.

“Hermione, I’m moving in with you when you go. I don’t care what you say.”

“Gin, I told you to go back to bed.” Harry muttered from the rim of his mug.

“I can’t go back to bed, Neville’s mandrakes are teething.” Ginny’s face was squashed against the table, but Hermione recognised the angry tone nonetheless.

The kitchen door opened, and let in a symphony of squeals that Hermione guessed belonged to the Mandrakes. Ron stood in the doorway, looking confused.

“Has anyone seen my knee pads? I swear I left them in the hallway.”

Hermione sighed, “Harry you need to get a handle on your tenants, everyone leaves everything everywhere.”

“I think they’re under the table Ron.”

Ron dropped to his knees and pushed Ginny’s half asleep body to the side, scrambling under the table.

“Nope! They’re not here either.” Ron said, before thumping his head on the underside of the table, causing Hermione’s coffee to spill.

“For god’s sake Ron! Get out from there.” Hermione was not a morning person, more appropriately she was not share a house with six other people in the morning-person. She stood, cast a wandless Scourgify and picked up her paper.

“I still can’t believe you do wandless.” Harry grunted from the corner.

“It’s charms, easy enough. I’ve been practicing now that I have nothing to do.” Hermione had moved to lean against the counter with Harry, pouring herself another coffee.

“Not for long, only a few months before I train you up.” Harry replied.  
Ron had thumped his head again whilst retreating from the table, waking Ginny from her light slumber, and earning himself a whack on the shoulder from his younger sister.

“Oh, I forgot to mention Robards told me yesterday that Kingsley told him that the Wizengamot said Malfoy will be at Auror training.” The bustle of the kitchen stopped at Harry’s words, Hermione choked on her coffee. Ginny immediately met her eyes. Ron finally made his way out from underneath the table, and offered an innocent “Huh?” prompting Harry to repeat his original statement whilst Ginny and Hermione exchanged worried looks.

“Why is he training?” asked Hermione, breathless from shock.

“They want him to assist the DMLE in capturing remaining Deatheaters, Kingsley thinks his information will speed things up. As you can imagine Robards is not happy, he flat out refused to work with him.”

“You should too, Harry, he's a slimy little git. I can’t believe he got away with it all.” added Ron. Things between Hermione and Ron had come to a head when she told him that she was testifying, they had broken up amicably in April, over what Hermione referred to as ‘creative differences’, but after hearing she intended to defend Draco, Ron had decided to ignore her for the foreseeable future.

“He was an integral part of why Harry succeeded, Ron I know I don’t have to remind you.”  
Ron shot an angry look her way, but still didn’t meet her eye.  
Harry looked at her, then Ron, then back to her.

“Well- ahem. I just wanted to let you know Hermione.”

She nodded in thanks, making her way out of the kitchen just after Ginny exclaimed “Ron! There’s your knee pads, on the chandelier!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave comments, polite criticism is welcomed!


	2. II

20th of August 1999

Draco had spent a full week training in his garden. Azkaban, and the general stress of possibly being locked away forever, had caused him to lose weight in all the wrong areas. The morning of his father’s trial he made a conscious decision not to pace around his room in worry, but instead run laps around the manor and transfigure bars in the garden for him to do pull ups. His father's trial had lasted three days, due to the sheer amount of charges the Wizengamot held against him, the verdict was reached in the late afternoon on the 15th of August, Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to 85 years in Azkaban prison. When his mother returned home that evening she was emotionally spent and wanted to be alone with her thoughts in the library, Draco obliged opting instead to try complete his new evening exercise routine. 

On his 3rd lap of the manor he saw his mother through the high library windows, curled into one of the leather wingback chairs with a blanket. It hadn’t bothered him until then, the idea of his father never stepping foot in the manor again, but the idea of his mother being alone every day and night almost made him crumble on the spot. He decided his exercises could wait until the morning, and retreated into the house. He showered and changed in his room, making a note to buy new robes as soon as he could. He had managed to find a few suits from his 5th year, but they were noticeably short at the ankle and wrist and the accompanying black turtlenecks had almost choked him when he first put them on. His room was noticeably empty after repairing the mess the ministry left behind, he decided against repairing the bookshelves, preferring the look of a pile of books next to his desk, his bed was a quick enough fix, somehow Otho had even managed to get rid of the scorch marks in his hallway. He couldn’t fix his photographs, but couldn’t bear to throw them away. The one thing he knew he needed to comfort his mother was a large plaid blanket they used to use at Christmas eve when he was young. His father would lay it out in front of the fire, his mother would read him a story until he fell asleep and then he would wake in his bed on Christmas morning, cocooned in the blanket. It was one of the only sentimental items that had survived the turbulent years at Malfoy Manor, but he couldn’t find it anywhere.

“Otho.”

The elf popped into his room, wearing a chef's hat and holding an oversized ladle.

“Yes master?”

“Where is that blanket?”

He had missed the openness of his library. He had spent many days there during his house arrest, the floor to ceiling windows allowed him to feel outside, even behind the barrier of glass. During the war it was the only place in the entire manor he could go without being disturbed or running into an unwanted house guest. He had played in the dark wood stacks as a boy, studied on the upper level as a teen, and that night as a man, he cradled his weeping mother in his arms, cocooned in a blanket, letting her scream and wail for the loss she felt.

She had calmed during the week, listing the positives of their collective sentences whenever they took breakfast together, writing to friends and distant relatives to distract herself. Her most recent endeavour, which she was currently occupying Draco with, was finding an appropriate gift for Harry Potter, to show her gratitude for his testimony. They had taken the floo to Diagon Alley in the early afternoon, his mother had suggested they buy him some new robes at Twilfitt and Tattings but Draco insisted they return to Madam Malkin’s and make amends. After a short but sincere apology, Madam Malkin and his mother had returned to the tight lipped gossip they engaged in prior to the war. 

“Oh Narcissa you wouldn’t believe the bother we’ve had, the ministry has employed high security measures in the Alleys all summer to stop the theft.”

“Fear not Maisy, Draco here is joining the aurors this October, I’m sure he’ll keep a watchful eye on everything for you!” 

“Oh is that right? Well congratulations Draco! Actually I should mention, one of your old friends has been apprenticing with me for the past year, a wonderful girl just needs to work on her appliqué. You see Narcissa, it's all in the fingertips, very delicate work.”

Draco’s eyes darted to the back of the store, subtly drowning out the two women , a tiny framed witch with a sleek black bob was levitating several tape measures in front of a small child. Pansy Parkinson. 

Draco excused himself, uttering something about new measurements and sauntered towards his old friend. He perched himself on the wall closest to her work station, but Pansy hadn’t seemed to notice. 

The small child was wriggling her right arm whenever Pansy’s tape measure got close, getting noticeably irritable whenever she was touched. 

“Stop moving your arm kid! I’m not afraid of slicing it off to get those measurements.” 

“I always said it was easiest to find a Parkinson by following the sounds of screaming children.”

Pansy’s eyes shot up to the mirror when he spoke, her eyes catching on him. She looked exactly the same as she did in Hogwarts, red lipstick perfectly applied, olive skin and pristinely tamed hair, the quintessential pureblood witch. 

“Draco.” She whispered, it was no surprise that she was shocked to see him, their last proper conversation had been in their 7th year. Draco had accidentally inspired Pansy’s then lover Theodore Nott to take the dark mark, Pansy had many opinions on the matter, and as usual, was not afraid to share them. If Draco recalled correctly, the last words to him from her mouth were along the lines of ‘spineless pompous cunt’. He hadn’t seen any of his former classmates since the battle at Hogwarts, mostly because he couldn’t face them. Theo, Blaise and Pansy had managed to escape before they were harmed, Goyle had apparently made it out alive and was currently on the run with his father, the fate of Crabbe rested entirely upon Draco’s shoulders, he often heard his blood curdling screams when he tried to sleep at night. Draco realised he hadn’t responded, too focused on the memory of his friend's flailing body falling deep into a hungry fire.

“Pans, you look well.”

Pansy shoved the small child from the tailoring station with a forceful “Occupy yourself.” The small child scuttled out, knocking several rails of robes on the way.

“I suppose you’re here to apologize.”

“Actually, my entire wardrobe was burnt to ashes by some ministry lackeys . I’m here to get measured.”

He stepped onto the measuring platform before she could respond. 

“How is Nott?”

“Better, I’m sure you heard about his father?”

Draco hummed in agreement.

Nott Sr, Theo’s father, had met his end at the hands of the minister of magic himself during a skirmish in mid July. The daily prophet had boasted of Kingsley’s unprecedented heroism, a picture of him with an obscene smile and thumbs up at the scene graced the cover. Nott Sr, had somehow thought a clifftop would be an appropriate place to duel and was now quite obviously wrong in said deductions. The entire commotion had left Theo the sole heir to the Nott estate. Draco had heard that Theo had never been charged by the Wizengamot, neither had any of his old friends for that matter, for this he was thankful. Blaise and Pansy were never interested in becoming Deatheaters or dying for a cause they were only partially associated with. Theo had been a branded Deatheater, but never practising, his father preferred to take the glory. Theo had taken the mark after seeing Draco’s in 6th year, the Notts were notoriously jealous of the Malfoys, Draco only wished he would have told Theo how he was forced, pushed to his knees by his aunt, shaking so uncontrollably that Voldemort laughed and spat in his face. When Theo returned, branded in their 7th year, it was obvious that his experience had been equally as unpleasant. 

Pansy had measured his pant leg without even looking in his direction, waiting for the aforementioned apology, she was a particularly impatient witch. 

“Pansy, you have to know how sorry I am, for everything. I never wanted him involved, I never wanted anyone involved.”

She said nothing.

“If I could change anything, I would protect you - all of you- I’d never let any of you know what I was doing, I’d never involve Greg or Vinc-” His voice cracked at the name, “I regret it all, every minute. I need you to know that.”

She took a long breath and finally turned to face him. 

“Okay.”

“Okay? That’s all?”

“That’s all, you apologized and… that’s all. I don’t want to think about it anymore, I’m keeping a relatively low profile nowadays and hexing you in a clothing store wouldn’t help maintain that. Besides I hear that even saint Potter has forgiven you, so I can’t let him one up me.”

“I’ve missed you Pans.” 

He swore he saw the corner of her mouth quirk. 

“I’m sure Blaise and Theo would like to see you. We’re all at Nott Manor, feel free to swing by. I can’t promise I’ll be so kind in private though.” She twisted him towards a tape measure that grazed his chest, smirking. 

“I’ll give you all a free pass, one hex each. Nothing too permanent, I have a new job.” Draco couldn’t help but smile as she patted him on the shoulder and met his eyes in the mirror. 

“I missed you too Draco.” 

The small child from earlier had returned to the tailoring station, and was making retching noises from the corner. 

He returned to the manor that day with a plethora of new suits and robes, a golden snitch paper weight for Potter, and a spring in his step, which was quickly destroyed by his mother mentioning Hermione Granger.

“Draco, we must go back tomorrow and get a gift for you to send to Miss Granger. I can’t believe I forgot..”

“Mother, I can assure you I’m the last person she would want to receive anything from.”

He blushed at the innuendo. He had tried his hardest not to think about her all week. His occlumency had helped, but he couldn’t help his thoughts slipping whenever he was in the shower or in bed at night, he seemed to always find himself hard whenever he recalled how she had bit her lip with nerves at his trial, or how her thin fingers grappled with the door. He would imagine those fingers on his chest, in his hair or at the base of his shaft, he’d daydream of pulling her lip between his teeth and suddenly he was 16 again, staring at her in the library with all the same daydreams. 

“Well then, I’ll address it from myself. I’d like to meet with her too and make amends, I think it would do us good to have some muggle-born friends.”

“You have certainly changed your tune mother.”

Her face grew stern with his words. 

“It would do you good to do the same Draco.” She took off down the hallway, removing her gloves and hat and slamming them on a side table. He hated upsetting her.

“Mother, wait.”

She stopped in her tracks.

“You’re right, I...apologise I’m just, trying to adjust. I know what to give Granger, we don’t have to buy it. I’ll bring it to you this evening.”

And that evening, after retrieving the gift he always wanted to give, he signed his name next to his mother’s, on a card addressed to Hermione Granger.

21st August 1999

“Hermione!” 

“I’m in my room Gin!”

Hermione had just returned from a successful house hunt, she’d found a flat close to Grimmuald place with everything she wanted. Dark wood floors, high ceilings, it even had its own reading nook with several book shelves preinstalled, she put forward an offer before she even saw the bedrooms. 

“Come downstairs, there’s um- a gift for you!”

“Can you bring it up Gin? I’m too tired to climb the stairs again.” Unsurprisingly, most of the conversations at Grimmauld place were simply individuals shouting into the darkness, hoping the right person would hear and respond. 

“Please don’t make me try to bring this up, I’ll break my wrists.”

Hermione’s curiosity piqued at that statement, she was normally against apparating indoors but given how much her thighs ached, she figured this was one of the rare occasions she would indulge. When she apparated into the living room she was greeted by a garish Weasley grin, which usually meant trouble. 

“What is it Gin?”

“You will never guess who sent you a gift.”

“Is it McGonagall? She said she was sending me some books over for me to practise some wandless transfiguration.”

“Nope.”

“Gin come on, just let me see.” She pushed her still grinning friend out of the way, to reveal a small bookshelf with a burgundy bow in the centre, lay flat out on their coffee table. Hermione stared in disbelief, on the shelves before her were several 1st editions of great english novels, Jane Austen, the Brontë’s, Mary Shelley, Virginia Woolf, Charles Dickens, all perfectly intact.

“Okay. try guess who sent it now.” 

“Gin- what is this? Who- when did this arrive? How on earth could someone get these? Do you know how much these would be worth? A 1st edition Dickens alone would be hundreds, possibly thousands, this is too extravagant, who the hell sent me this?”

“Extravagant is right, think of the most extravagant people you know.”

“Ginny, please I need to return these, it’s too much.”

“No way! This is the least they could do after everything that they put you through!” Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione spotted a small card in Ginny’s hands; she quickly snatched it while the witch was distracted. 

‘To Miss Hermione Granger,

Please accept this humble gift of gratitude, our family will be forever indebted to you. I hope it does not shock you to hear how regretful and apologetic I am for my behaviour during our previous encounters. I would like to extend an invitation to join me for afternoon tea, at your discretion. 

Yours sincerely 

Narcissa Malfoy 

Granger,

Please don’t try to return these, they are yours.

Thank you for your testimony.

Draco Malfoy.’

Hermione was in shock- mouth open -can’t feel your fingers-eyes so wide they hurt-shock. She looked up a Ginny, who was still wearing her charming Weasley grin.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Oh come on, this is funny! It’s no big deal, they sent Harry a gift too.”

“What did they send him?”

“It was actually quite nice, it was a golden snitch paperweight that flies through the ministry to deliver his reports.”

“Ginny, you can’t possibly believe they are of equal value. This must have cost thousands, I mean how can I possibly keep this?”

“Didn’t he say specifically to not return them?”

Hermione had deliberately tried to ignore the note from him, yet her eyes scanned it over and over. Ginny was the only person on earth who knew a note like this would send her into a terribly frenzied state of mind, so it was surprising that she had even let her read it. One night after her breakup with Ron, Ginny had forced Hermione into drinking several rounds of firewhiskey, they lay on the floor of the living room at Grimmauld place, drunk and giggling, until Ginny mentioned his name. This prompted a long winded crying fit from a very drunk Hermione, who proceeded to confess the one secret she promised herself she would take to the grave. She had a pathetic, unjustified, schoolgirl crush on Draco Malfoy. She told Ginny of the time in their 6th year, when she found him crying into his lap on the 7th floor, and wished more than anything to comfort him, she remembered how she’d watch him glide around the library with his refined walk, ogling the way his fingers would stroke the spine of whatever book was intriguing him, how she could never focus on supporting Harry or Ron at a quidditch game as she was constantly distracted by the way sunlight would bounce off his pale skin. Of course, Ginny found this nothing short of hilarious, until Hermione confessed how deep her affections for him truly were. She had looked into his eyes and begged for his help the night she was tortured at Malfoy manor, she saw him shake and whimper with every ‘please, Draco’ that accidentally escaped her lips. She had shed tears of joy when he ran from the arms of his mother to throw Harry his wand at the final battle, and promised to thank him even if it was the last thing she ever did. She then had to spend an even larger portion of the night explaining that her feelings for Ron were still legitimate. Draco was an inconceivably annoying and pathetic crush, a pipe dream, whereas her feelings for Ron were sensible and had grown due to their close proximity. 

“Hermione?”

She was suddenly back in the present, staring down at the most lavish gift she had ever received. 

“I know we’re not supposed to talk about it but-”

Before Ginny could finish her sentence, Hermione cast a muffliato.

“I told you not to speak about it in the house!”

“Okay but Hermione, this is your opening! We need to send a thank you note, something subtle but flirtatious. Do you still have that Umbrella flower perfume? We have to spray it on the paper. You have to send an extra one accepting his mother’s invitation for tea!”

“Ginny, please calm down. This is just another classic Malfoy move, I wouldn’t be surprised if the books curse me when I touch them.”

“Hermione, he thanked you! Malfoy thanked you! Do you think he would ever thank anyone if he didn’t mean it?”

She was right, she recognised the tight flow of his handwriting from the library sign out books, he most certainly wrote it, no matter how out of character it was.

“Okay, okay just let me think. I’ll send a note back, but only to his mother. With no perfume.”

Ginny’s smile grew so large, Hermione was sure it must be hurting her face.

“Okay, let’s work on the first Draft.”

Hermione, with great reluctance, sent a thank you note to Malfoy manor the next morning. Ginny had drafted seven different replies, in the end they decided to keep it short and sweet:

“To Mrs Narcissa Malfoy,

I cannot thank you enough for the thoughtful gift, I will treasure it forever. I would love to accept your offer of afternoon tea and thank you in person. Please let me know your preferred time and location at the earliest possible convenience.

Yours Sincerely,

Hermione Granger.’

Hermione had hauled the bookshelf up to her room, but hadn’t yet touched a single book. She was still half convinced they had some curse on them that would bite off her hand if she tried to actually read them. It was so tempting, too tantalising not to touch at least one of the leather bound spines and trace the intricate gold lettering. Her fingers hovered over Virgina Woolf, Charles Dickens, subconsciously they dipped to stroke Pride and Prejudice, she held her breath as her fingers touched the cold leather, nothing. No curse, no pain. The book enthusiast in her took over, and gently pulled out Pride and Prejudice and placed it delicately in her lap, the pages fell open, her eyes finding words she had read a thousand times, _“I have not the pleasure of understanding you.”_

22nd August 1999

“Good Morning mother.” Draco slipped into the dining room, his mother had already started her morning ritual of sorting through her old address books and placing small ticks next to names she wished to contact. She was looking particularly cheery.

“Draco, it seems our gift was gracefully accepted by Miss Granger, she has accepted my invitation for tea.”

He took his seat across from her, trying his best not to flinch at the name.

“Not here I hope.”

“You don’t wish to join us?”

“Mother, your wilful ignorance on this subject is astounding me. I'm sure you recall I wasn’t the kindest to her at school.” He unfolded his napkin and placed it on his lap.

“I'm sure you recall her testifying for your release, after she was tortured in your home.”

The image of brown hair splayed on his floor, a body writhing, bones banging against wood. He pushed it out of his mind with a light cough.

“Which is why I’m certain she accepted your invitation out of courtesy, perhaps we should refrain from befriending individuals our close relatives have tortured, out of courtesy.”

His mother looked at him, shocked. She cleared her throat and put away her address book. 

“Draco, we are both trying to cope here, I can’t stay in this house all day...it’s too hard without him.”

“I understand and respect that mother, but please, can we refrain from playing house with Malfoy victims, just for a little while.” 

He had practiced his Occlumency since the day he sent her gift, slamming every thought of her into a dark abyss. His technique was a simple one, controlling the waves of an unruly ocean, suppressing every thought that rippled in his mind until he had nothing but still waters and disposing all thoughts of her, or his father, or Voldemort into a dark trench underneath the waves. It was easier to control thoughts of her when they were simply inside his head, but the waves became turbulent whenever his mother mentioned her name. He couldn’t predict how he would react to his mother returning from this afternoon tea, telling him how gracious she was, carrying her scent through the manor, inviting her to dinner. He couldn’t risk it.

“I’ll delay it, Draco, but not for long. It’s improper.”

At least he would have more time to refine his mind.

“Thank you mother.”

He pushed her down into the ocean trenches once more, and reached for the pumpkin scones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is more of a short filler chapter, outlining some of the background to this story.  
> I (like majority of all other writers) have and will be deviating from canon A LOT but feel free to express any corrections, it's been a long while since I read the books so I'm relying on poor memory and harry potter WIKI (my eternal thanks)  
> I must admit I'm not entirely sure how many chapters this fic will be which is scary! I'm going to try to keep the word count for each chapter under 6000 but have no idea for the overall word count/chapter count so apologies in advance.  
> This is going to a slooooooooooow burn, and rightly so.


	3. III

23rd August 1999

Dear Miss Granger,

Please forgive my foolishness, but it seems I have overestimated how much free time I will have over the next few months. I am of course still hoping to meet with you in person, but I’m afraid it may have to wait until November. I do beg your pardon on this matter, and hope that my error does not renounce your acceptance of my invitation. 

Yours Sincerely,

Narcissa Malfoy.

24th August 1999

Dear Mrs Malfoy,

I would still be happy to meet with you in November, unfortunately I may only be available in the evenings or on weekends as I am beginning a new job. I hope this isn’t too much of an inconvenience. Hope to hear from you soon.

Yours Sincerely,

Hermione Granger

October 4th 1999

September seemed to disappear completely, Hermione had lost control of her schedule as soon as she closed the deal on her new apartment. She was to move on October 20th, but began packing in mid September, making sure all her belongings were accounted for. Her life was now packed away in cardboard in her hallway, the only furniture remaining in her room being her bed, a small rack of clothing and the present she’d received from the Malfoys. She often thought of how they picked out such a gift, how they would even know of muggle authors or have access to such precious first editions, whether Draco had stroked their spines like he used to in the Hogwarts Library. Her rampant curiosity had forced her to place an old sheet over the gift last week, to help her ignore the thoughts. She was due to start her auror training the next day and wanted her mind sharp. Her nerves were uncontrollable, mainly because she’d be seeing him for the first time since his trial, she was really trying to not think about that. 

Harry had attempted to prepare her for her training by duelling her in the courtyard of Grimmuald place, it had helped some, though he wasn’t as clean a mover as Hermione, his wand movements were less precise and she was far faster, especially now she had the advantage of a nice collection wandless spells. That afternoon they were practicing, Luna watched them intently from her window. 

“You can’t use those in the field, I’ve told you that, right?” Harry asked after narrowly missing a wandless Rictumspempra that Hermione had thrown his way.

“Use what in the field?” 

“Wandless magic, you can’t use it in the field.”

“What do you mean Harry? Kingsley used wandless all the time in the field, so did Moody and Tonks.”

“Right, it’s just Robards doesn’t like it, he likes to know what we’re all doing without having to check. He says it's confusing, for those who can’t do wandless.”

“I’ve been working on this for months, why haven’t you said anything?”

“We’ve never really spoken about it,’cause I can’t do it, Robards asked how our training was coming along and I told him you’ve been practising wandless and then he told me.”

“When was this?”

“Uh- maybe two weeks ago.”

Hermione was furious, she knew Harry was normally extremely busy either working or catching up on sleep, but he had several opportunities to talk with her about this, and had instead decided to mention it a day before she began her training. 

“Well great, that's just great! First I compromise on my job preference, now I practise a technique for months that I can’t even use, thanks Harry.”

“Hey it’s not me! Blame Robards!”

“Sure, I’ll walk in on my first day tomorrow and let him know what a dick he is, that’ll be a great start.”

“Hermione!Harry! It’s about to rain!” Luna shouted gleefully from her window.

“Not now Luna! I can’t believe this Harry, I’m already stressed enough about tomorrow! I could’ve spent my time revising theoretical work or doing basically anything else but instead I’ve wasted months! I'm going to be so behind, they're going to group me with the idiots who just want to hunt Deatheaters.” 

As a high achiever, Hermione hated being unprepared. She hated being at a disadvantage, she couldn’t bear people thinking she hadn’t even prepared for her auror training or that she simply couldn't be bothered to advance her technique. She should’ve been worried what Kingsley would think, she should’ve been concerned that Robards would dismiss her as a subpar witch, but all she could think of was Draco’s smug grin.

Harry moved to comfort her, but her anger was boiling. As she shoved away his hands, a large crack of thunder opened up the skies and a burst of rain hit the courtyard. She ran into the house without looking back.

Still enraged from her discovery in the early afternoon, Hermione spent most of her evening chain smoking in the garden, a nasty habit that she rarely indulged in. Afterwards she’d turned to sifting through the boxes of her belongings in the hallway, to find any texts that were remotely related to wizarding law. She’d found a tattered copy of ‘Legislative Guide to the Proper Use of Magic’ as well as her copy of ‘The Dark Arts Outsmarted’ from 5th year, both had proved fairly useful to review, yet she couldn’t rest until she had her copy of ‘The Dark Arts: A legal Companion’, which was nowhere to be found. Feeling overwhelmed, but mostly embarrassed at her mistake, she had resorted to sitting in the hallway, surrounded by books and holding her head in her hands. 

“Hermione?”

She looked up to see Neville, covered in soil, holding a basket filled with what appeared to be Alihotsy leaves. 

“Hi Neville, sorry am I in your way?”

“No- I mean yes, technically I was heading to the bathroom. It can wait, as long as you don’t mind sitting next me, I’ll try not to get any soil on your books.” Before she could politely tell him that the last thing she wanted was company, he had taken a seat on the floor next to her.

“You seem stressed, is everything okay?”

“Yes, I'm okay just trying to prepare for Auror training tomorrow and I can’t find the texts I need.”

Neville said nothing, opting instead to raise his left eyebrow in a questionable manner.

“What? Don’t you start. I know, Hermione Granger cramming the night before is unheard of, save your laughs I’ll get plenty of them tomorrow.”

“Actually I’m just wondering why you feel the need to prepare at all.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I may have been a swot in school but that doesn’t translate to real life, Neville. I’m going to be painfully average, people automatically expect more from me.”

“Hermione, you weren’t a swot in school, you were brilliant. You still are. I mean there’s a reason people call you the brightest witch of your-”

“Please don’t, I can’t stand it when people call me that.”

He laughed, “It’s better than anything I was ever called, the point still stands Hermione. You could quit using magic for a year and I’m sure you’d still be better than every person in your training.”

“That’s not true, Malfoy’s going to be there tomorrow, he was always just behind me in class.”

“I’m sure he hasn't had much chance to catch up to you, being in Azkaban for three months and all.” 

The entire house had kept up with the Malfoy case, mostly because they all wanted to know why Ron and Hermione couldn’t look at eachother. Neville had surprised her with his sympathy, she’d imagined that having two parents tortured by Draco’s close relative would inspire a passionate disdain for him, yet when Neville had heard the verdict, he smiled and offered a small “that’s good” before retreating to his greenhouse.

“You know Ron still won’t talk to me, he doesn’t understand why I testified.”

“It was war Hermione, he lost Fred. He’s always had the ‘an eye for an eye’ mindset. I imagine it’s hard for him to live in a world where the Malfoys walk freely and he’ll never see his brother again.”

“Why don’t you feel that way?After what happened to your family?”

She couldn’t help but ask. Neville rarely mentioned his parents, he’d occasionally announce when he was heading out to visit them, always returning visibly exhausted. 

Neville inhaled shakily, turning his face to look at the floor beneath him. Hermione instantly regretted asking, she was about to apologise when he finally spoke.

“I’ve read up on some cases similar to my parents, some of the patients were in Azkaban. Apparently the long term exposure to dementors can cause the same issues that mum and dad have. I wouldn’t wish their fate on anyone, even the darkest of wizards, I’ve seen what it does to people. Bellatrix destroyed my family, still I can’t help thinking if there were less hatred in the world, she might’ve been a completely different person, the kind of person that would never have tortured them. I can’t hate Draco because of her, all I can do is hope he doesn’t make the same mistakes, the only way to do that is to help him. He was a shit in school, he bullied me horrendously but he made the right choice in the end. I don’t think we’d be alive if it wasn’t for him and his mother. I think Ron forgets Malfoy was just a kid, we all were. I don’t think he deserves Azkaban, maybe just a nasty hex from you tomorrow.” 

She smiled lightly and grabbed his soil covered hand. 

“You’ll do great tomorrow Hermione, you’re the best out of any of us.”

“Thank you Neville.”

For the first time all day, Hermione relaxed. She sat against the wall, holding Neville’s hand tightly until moonlight shined through her window, tickling their fingertips. 

October 4th 1999

“Not as bad as that bludger that hit Blaise’s face in 5th year, I swear you could see the outline on his cheeks for weeks.”

“I didn’t even feel it.”

“Yeah, that’s why you cried afterwards ‘My face!Why did it have to hit my face!’ didn’t you beg Pomfrey to remove all the mirrors from the hospital wing?” 

It was the 5th Sunday in a row Draco had spent at Nott Manor. The first time he visited, there was a visibly strong tension between himself and Theo, it quickly fizzled when Draco unloaded 4 bottles of firewhiskey as an apology gift. They refrained from mentioning anything to do with Voldemort or their fathers, preferring light conversation, often reminiscing on the few happy memories they had of their school days. Draco was notably quieter than both Theo and Blaise these days, enjoying observing their conversations more so than partaking. It was rare that Pansy could ever join them for long, apparently Madam Malkin required her in the shop at 5am on Mondays, something to do with practicing her appliqué.

He sipped his firewhiskey, appreciating Theo’s dramatic reenactment of Blaise’s various quidditch accidents. 

“I can’t stay late tonight boys, I’m off to pretend to be an auror tomorrow.”

“That’s tomorrow? Does that mean you’ll be arresting us next Sunday?” drawled Blaise.

“Maybe not, depends who’s buying the drinks next week. I know I owe you both but you’re bleeding my allowance dry.”

“Please tell me Potter is training you, seeing him boss you around is on my bucket list.” Theo slurred. 

Theo was always the drunkest at their soirees, Draco often saw Pansy guiding him up the stairs when he was about to floo home, Theo would tap her nose and say an unintelligible string of compliments with each step he successfully took. They seemed happy. One blurry night in September, Blaise had mentioned how Pansy had begged Theo to leave with her during the final battle, and he had, they then realised neither of them was interested in living without the other. Draco envied how open and receptive they were to each other. Theo often knew what Pansy was thinking before she even spoke, refilling her glass before it was ever empty, quickly summoning a blanket if she ever lightly shivered, standing to walk her to bed before she’d even excused herself. Draco wondered what it would be like, to be so in tune with someone, to understand them so well, he supposed he’d never know. He’d had girlfriends in his teenage years, even a brief fling with Pansy, however nobody had fully piqued his interest. Every woman he had encountered was too agreeable, too restrained, too boring, except for one. But he couldn’t think about her. His mother had told him she’d rescheduled their playdate, so he’d taken the entire month of September to not think about her, to shove her beneath the waves in his mind. He’d been doing well. It was significantly harder after his booze fuelled Sunday nights at Nott manor, he could picture her so easily when he was drunk, nonetheless his restraint had improved significantly. He predicted in a few weeks, it’d no longer be an issue at all. 

“I hear Weasley didn’t even make it through the training, Pansy saw him working at his brother's joke shop a few months back.”

Draco scoffed into his glass, “Typical Weasley.”

Blaise summoned a bottle to top of his drink, “Really? I swear I saw him training at the Chudley Cannons arena recently.”

“And what were you doing at the Chudley Cannons arena Blaise? The magpies finally realise how shit of a chaser you are?”

Blaise had begun playing for the Montrose Magpies earlier in the year, after trying out ‘hundreds of times’, according to Theo. He’d apparate to Scotland most mornings, but had assured Draco that it was worth it. 

“Actually their keeper owed me a favour. He asked me to put a word in with our manager and let him know that he’s trying to move teams, not that we’re interested, he paid me 100 galleons though.” He gave a nonchalant shrug.

“Ah, so Weasley’s in for a chance then. He played keeper, right Draco?”

“Yeah. He might actually make the Cannons, they’re so shit that even a Weasley would be an improvement.”

“Do you reckon he’s still shagging Granger? I haven’t seen her in years.”

A lump the size of an apple grew in Draco’s throat. He struggled to keep his composure,he hoped the flush of firewhiskey would disguise the blush rising from his neck to his cheeks. He’d tried his best to erase the image of her holding hands with Weasley after the final battle from his memories, with little success. He hadn’t told Theo or Blaise or even Pansy that Granger had testified, the less conversations about her, the better.

He managed a small “I imagine so” before having to rear his head back, physically trying to shake the image of her away.

By a stroke of luck Theo rose from his seat, slightly off balance, which usually meant that Pansy would be opening the door and telling them to leave in a matter of seconds. 

“Well gents, it’s been lovely. Good luck with your community service tomorrow Draco, I’m sure you’ll be a whole new man next week. Blaise, will you see him out?” He was slurring quite significantly. He passed Draco, giving him a light tap of encouragement on the shoulder and swung open the door to reveal Pansy in a see-through black feathered robe, hand already on the doorknob.

“I’m here baby, let’s go to bed.” He mumbled, slinging an arm over her shoulder.

Pansy popped her head through a small gap underneath Theo’s arm, “good luck tomorrow Draco, give ‘em hell.”

“Thanks, Pans. Goodnight.”

After exchanging farewells with Blaise, Draco took the floo directly into his bedroom, only then realising how drunk he was. He stumbled out of the green flames and into the darkness of his room. Immediately sinking into his bed, he couldn’t help but replay Theo’s words over and over.

_“Do you reckon he’s still shagging Granger?”_

It shouldn’t have mattered, shouldn’t have hurt, he was never going to see her again anyway. Except it did matter, it did hurt. The thought caused the waves inside of his head to become unruly, violent, they crushed the little control he had left over his occlumency, pulling him under, until all he could see was her. Her wild hair splayed onto a bed, her head thrown back in ecstasy, her chest rising and falling in quick succession, a man’s fingers exploring her skin, roaming over her breasts, only they didn’t belong to him. He sat up, holding his head in his hands, pulling his hair in desperate attempts to clear out the images of her and Weasley. He ran to his bathroom, panting, grappling the taps in his sink for cold water to splash his face with. Once he had calmed, he sank against the wall, hopelessly trying to calm the ferocious waves in his mind. 

October 5th 1999

He woke in the same position the next morning, leaning against the wall in his bathroom. 

“Otho.”

The elf popped into the room. Draco had never noticed how small he was, even for a house elf, he was barely as tall as Draco’s knees, which were pulled to his chest as he sat. 

“Yes Master?”

“What time is it? Can you bring me some of that potion I brewed last week?”

“Is 6am Master, Is Master having one of his headaches again?” The elf looked visibly distressed, moving to put space between them. Otho had greeted him every Monday morning since he’d started going to Nott Manor. He was always horrendously hungover. Draco had brewed a potion to help with said hangovers last week, after his ‘headache’ had caused him to vomit in his bathtub. Otho had been rather shaken by the whole ordeal. 

“Yes Otho, don’t worry I’m not going to be sick again. I just need to get ready for the day quickly. Can you ask Opis to send some breakfast up early today?” 

“Yes master.”

Opis was the head elf of the kitchen, she was a fantastic cook. She’d served the Malfoys since Draco was a boy. She made an exceptional crème brûlée, Draco had eaten five of them the day after he had returned home, when she came to collect the dishes and saw he had basically licked them clean, she grinned so hard her eyes welled up. 

Otho returned with the potion just before Draco stepped into his shower. He had started to truly appreciate the luxury of his bathroom after experiencing the Azkaban ‘showers’, which were essentially just a bucket of water. He never wanted to part from his bathroom again, the shower had the perfect pressure, perfect temperature, the black marble even helped subdue the harshness of the sunrise on his hungover eyes. His tub had to be his favourite thing he owned, he’d stayed in there for four hours the night he returned home, it was slightly eccentric, with its deep green colour and silver accents, still it had soothed and calmed him more times than he cared to admit.

He returned to his bedroom to find his clothes laid out on his bed, white shirt, dark trousers, dragon hide boots, and the only piece of ‘uniform’ he’d been informed of, a chest holster. There was a long black overcoat hanging from the frame of his four poster, with a note in its front pocket.

‘Happy first day my darling! Come see me when it’s over.

Love you,

Mother x’

He quickly dressed and ate some of the breakfast that had been left on his coffee table. He then returned to the bathroom to charm his hair smooth, the bags under his eyes had thankfully calmed some since the morning. He was nervous, he was assured enough in his abilities as a wizard, however this would be his first time in public without his mother or friends, he’d be surrounded by people who hated Deatheaters or loved Potter and therefore despised him. He rolled his neck whilst attempting to calm his thoughts, he shouldn’t behave differently, everyone would know who he was, what he’d done. There was no room for shame as a Malfoy, he couldn’t let himself feel inferior, it would engulf him before he even left the house. He had to walk into that room with all the self-assuredness he’d had in school. He needed an opening line, something to show he wasn’t afraid to be there. He’d walk straight over to Potter’s face and say it, setting the tone for their interaction.

He finally decided on his way to the apparition point outside the manor that he’d slowly waltz over to Potter with a derisive “Well well well, saint Potter. It’s good to see you without chains around my wrists.” He’d practiced his best sneer in the bathroom mirror a few times before he had left. It was the perfect way to confront the weirdness head on, to show that he wasn’t going to bow to anyone. He needed people to know that just because he’d helped Potter in the end, it didn’t make them friendly, everything was exactly the same as before. He was thankful for his proficiency in occlumency in times like these, he’d spent the duration of his shower making sure any unruly thoughts from the previous night had sunk deep within the ocean of his mind, disappearing in the trenches. It was cold inside his head, he preferred it that way. He’d perfected his occlumency in his 6th year, with the help of his estranged aunt and many nights in the library, he found he was naturally skilled at compartmentalizing, it certainly helped hide the improper feelings he’d begun to have for Granger. Thankfully, he’d already developed his defences against legilimency by the time his aunt used it on him. It was difficult to keep her out, he’d often be sweating and panting at the end of their sessions, apparently Bellatrix was none the wiser, assuming he was so exhausted from trying so hard to impress her. 

He’d apparated to a relatively quiet street in London, in the alley next to the training building. It was fairly grand from what Draco could see, the entrance was enclosed in a frame of tall white columns, large windows evenly decorated the face of the building. He was heading to the third floor, which appeared to be at the very top of the building. After re-rehearsing his opening, then calming his nerves with his occlumency, he brushed the shoulders of his coat, tightened his cufflinks and headed inside the building.

He heard the bustle of people as soon as he reached the edge of the stairs, he took a deep breath before stepping towards the dark oak wood doors. He gently pushed it open to reveal Harry Potter in the centre of the room, smiling and laughing with several young men.

He cleared his throat loudly, “Well well…” 

Before he could finish his over rehearsed line, his eyes caught on a petite witch in the corner, tightening the laces of her boots. He didn’t recognise her at first. Her hair, the usual giveaway, had been fastened into a plait that lay on her right shoulder. He should’ve known she’d be here. Granger was now staring at him, ignoring her boots, cheeks pinking. He couldn’t finish his sentence, his mind rushed with all the heat he’d been suppressing since the morning. He could feel his neck warming, his cheeks flushing, he couldn’t breathe. His words had caught in his throat, choking him. He could faintly hear someone call his name. It was Potter. It took all the restraint he had to snap his head towards the voice. 

“Malfoy, are you alright?”

He couldn’t risk looking at her again.

“Potter. Yes. Yes I’m fine. More than fine, I’m ready. It’s uh-it’s good to see you without…”

“Without what?”

“Nothing- nevermind. Just- hello.”

“Yes well, hello. I’m sure you’ve been informed that I’ll be running the practical sessions, you’re expected to be here everyday, nine to five, for six weeks. Robards will be popping in today and occasionally to check progress. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

He’d been too distracted by her to notice that several of the previously jolly men were shooting sneers in his direction. He’d been thrown off course completely. 

“Hermione is in the corner over there, so no need to introduce you two. She’s the only witch in training at the moment, we’re pretty low on recruits actually.”

He was right, besides himself, Potter and Granger there were only five others in the room. He vaguely recognised two from Hogwarts. He followed Potter over to the three men he’d been speaking to earlier.

“Malfoy this is Bradley Reven, Marcus Jenet and Connor Calily. Guys this is Draco Malfoy.”

They refrained from sneering in front of Potter, he had likely warned them beforehand not to cause a scene, they’d probably been laughing at his expense when he walked through the door. Neither party attempted to initiate a handshake. Potter swiftly moved towards a dark haired man leaning against a far wall.

“And I'm sure you remember Wayne Hopkins from Hogwarts, Hufflepuff in the same year as us, right Wayne?”

Surprisingly, the dark haired man smiled gently at Draco, offering his hand. Draco reluctantly shook it.

“How are you Malfoy?”

“I’m fine- uh and yourself?”

“I'm well, thanks. I think we were partners in charms one year, you probably don’t remember.” He was playing with a small red marble in the palm of his left hand.

“No I don’t remember, sorry.”

He laughed and patted Draco on the shoulder “I'm not surprised.”

He had a strange face, almost permanently smiling due to his bulbous cheeks. Potter looked between the two before retreating towards Granger, sitting in the same position, now talking to a lean blonde man. Draco was sure he recognised him from the Gryffindor quidditch team.

“And over here is Andrew Kirke, excellent beater!” Potter was clearly more comfortable with him, they exchanged smiles and a polite greeting.

“Malfoy.” He threw Draco a closed smile before turning back to Hermione.

“I'm going to catch up with Wayne, see you later Hermione.” He nodded towards Harry and glanced over Draco, marching over to the Hufflepuff in the corner. 

“So yeah, only a few of us. Luckily we’ll be partnering up so it won’t feel so lonely, which brings me to Hermione.”

She looked up at Potter with a threatening glare.

“I thought it might be best if you two worked together, if you’re both okay with it of course. I’ve already promised Reven, Jenet and Calily they’ll be the group of three.”

Potter and Granger seemed to be having a conversation with their eyes, Potter’s were apologetic and Granger’s were burning with rage. Draco braced himself for a barricade of insults. Instead, he was met with silence.

“That’s fine.” She had admitted defeat, probably for Potter’s sake.

There was no way Draco was going to be pitied, he expected hate, he could cope with hate, he could not be pitied. He attempted to show his discomfort, but they both still seemed to be communicating with their eyes. He’d have to talk to her. His brain scrambled for something, anything. He hated how unprepared he was, he should’ve expected this to happen, he should’ve prepared for this possibility. His mouth was so dry. He couldn’t look at her. He cleared his throat, folding his hands behind his back “You- You uh don’t need to. I can work with someone else, Potter.”

Potter’s eyes almost popped out of his head from the insinuation. It was suddenly clear why this was happening, nobody else would work with him.

“It’s fine Malfoy. I’ll work with you.” 

She stood for the first time since he had entered the room, his eyes compulsively roved over her body. The black trousers she wore hugged her hips, pronouncing her curves in a glorious way. Her upper-half adorned a long sleeved shirt that wrapped around the front and tied at the side, revealing a beautiful display of almost-cleavage. He tore his eyes away before he salivated. 

“Fine.”

Potter, as subtle as ever, let out an audible sigh of relief. He smiled and nodded in thanks towards Granger before retreating once again. 

He risked a glance at her, her cheeks had turned an abhorrent shade of red. Good, this he could work with. He took a deep breath, doing his best to clear his mind, putting on his coldest, cruelest voice.

“Really Granger, you don’t have to work with me. I’d rather work alone than have you avoid looking at me.”

She lifted her gaze from the floor, meeting his eyes. A grave mistake, he’d basically just begged her to look at him.

“That’s nonsense, I’m not avoiding looking at you. I said it’s fine, seems like you care a lot more than I do.”

Her voice was breathy yet confident. She was different from their school days, he sensed it at the trial. She was more self-assured when she spoke now, as if questioning her judgement was almost certainly a mistake. It was definitely more arousing than the shrill tone he remembered.

She cleared her throat, met his gaze, on the cusp of saying something else. Yet the next voice that spoke was not her’s, instead Potter was shouting “Okay everyone we’ll be starting in five. So, do whatever you need to do and uh yeah! Be ready for your first day.” He looked immediately embarrassed at his own words, like some kind of geeky supply teacher.

Draco turned back to face Hermione. She’d picked up a thick wool scarf and an oversized shirt jacket with a dogtooth pattern. She was also apparently significantly more stylish than she had been in school. She fished a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket and headed towards the door.

She’d certainly surprised him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter has significantly more Draco than Hermione, just because i felt like his perspective was more interesting here.  
> I promise lots of Hermione next chapter  
> Also I had a real problem with dates, and forgot the ENTIRE month october lmao, so that's been changed, not that anyone will have noticed  
> as always kudos and comments are appreciated, do let me know if you're enjoying reading!


	4. IV

October 5th 1999

Hermione tilted her head back, blowing the last of her cigarette smoke into the cool morning air. She made a mental note to ‘thank’ George for her new addiction when she got back to Grimmuald place. The day she’d returned home from Malfoy’s trial, she’d found a pack of cigarettes on the kitchen counter and smoked the lot out of sheer panic. Turned out, they belonged to George. He’d been doing whatever he could to cope with the loss of Fred, Hermione had smelt all sorts of liquors whenever she passed by him in the house. He’d gotten better over the last few months, he and Ron now ran the joke shop together which had helped tremendously. He still hadn’t kicked his cigarette habit yet, fuelling Hermione’s own struggle. The habit distressed her as her parents had instilled a strict diligence on dental hygiene. If they could only see her now, on her 7th cigarette of the day at 8:57am. Her mum would use her sternest tone to explain the effect it would have on her teeth. Perhaps it was best they couldn’t remember her at all, she’d only be a disappointment. She had no doubt that this new habit was Malfoy induced, she felt jittery whenever someone merely mentioned him, instantly excusing herself and going outside to chain-smoke. Today was the worst she had felt, of course. She’d apparated in the morning with Harry, who was incessantly apologising for taking so long to warn her that her wandless magic would be useless. She’d accepted his first apology, nevertheless he made sure to hammer home just how sorry he was for the entire morning. When they’d arrived at their training building, Hermione had to hug him tightly just so he’d shut up. He led her to a large open plan room, with high windows and a dark wood floor. 

“We’re very low on budget.” Harry remarked, pulling a wooden training dummy out of a supply cupboard. 

“It’s nice Harry, very bright.”

She’d paced in the corner of the room, anticipating Malfoy’s arrival, exchanging quick pleasantries with the other new recruits, before refocusing her attention to the door. She’d paced the length of the dark wooden floor so much, that the laces of her combat boots had come undone. She took another glance at the entrance before sitting to re-tie them. Of course, it was at that moment that he walked in the room. She had immediately felt her cheeks heat. He looked fucking divine. The holsters provided by the ministry had been less than flattering on the other new recruits, it practically hung from Andrew Kirke’s shoulders like a necklace, it seemed to be suffocating Wayne Hopkins, Hermione had seen the front clip pop open when he had exhaled loudly earlier, yet it caressed Malfoy’s chest and biceps so perfectly she couldn’t stop her mouth from falling open. He had a large black overcoat thrown across his shoulder, his trousers and shirt fit his impressive physique flawlessly, she hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would be to tear her eyes away from him. She swore she had heard him say something when he’d entered, yet all he appeared to be doing was staring at her. He obviously hadn’t been made privy to her attendance. He was probably furious. Andrew Kirke had drawn her eyes away from him, he was saying something about Hogwarts but she couldn’t focus properly on his words, still dumbstruck from Malfoy’s appearance. She just smiled and nodded. Harry eventually brought Malfoy over, begging her with his bright green eyes to partner with him. She’d stupidly agreed. Which had brought her here, outside the building, staring up at the sky, attempting to calm her panic with a cigarette. 

She should’ve expected it, as far as she knew Harry was clueless about her true feelings towards him. It was no wonder Harry decided to off-load Malfoy onto her, the other recruits hadn’t seemed too pleased with his appearance. She had to buck up and get on with it, she could deal with six weeks. She’d try her best to avoid unnecessary conversation, she’d learn to deal with how distractingly handsome he was. She could do this. Just six weeks. 

Her confidence came crashing down when she re-entered the room. Harry had gathered the recruits in a circle, to explain the structure of the training. Malfoy stood with one arm resting on the other, playing with his bottom lip with his thumb. Hermione swore that he was deliberately enticing her, nobody on earth could look that seductive so casually. She sped past the group, dumping her belongings in the far left corner and quietly taking her place beside Malfoy in the circle. She put on mental blinkers, erasing him from her peripheral vision, staring directly at Harry. She’d already heard this opening speech about the structure of the programme over the past few weeks, she’d even helped tweak some grammatical errors at one point. 

“So some of you will be working under the head of interrogation, you’ll meet her on Friday for your first theoretical session, same time, same place. If you’re part of the full auror programme, which I believe most of you are, theory will mostly be about laws and the like. Hermione, as you know you’re training as an operative auror, which is our fancy way of saying detective, so you’ll be spending lots of time with the interrogation department. Malfoy you’re under the same division, as your main priority is as an informant.”

Harry had definitely left that last detail out of his practice speeches. Hermione noticed that the three recruits to Harry’s right were exchanging amused glances after hearing of Malfoy’s role. 

“So today we’re doing simple stuff, just to gage the level you’re currently at. First on the agenda is how we bring in suspects, currently the ministry are focusing their efforts on finding and capturing fleeing Deatheaters. From what we know, there are large camps set up all over the country, they function using muggles as slaves, they’ll steal food and other supplies on their behalf. This is usually either by bribery or using the imperius curse. It is our job to find and capture any muggles or fugitives we find without harming them, thus gaining information on the camp location. Today we’ll be simulating what it’d be like to capture a FWM, a fugitive with magic, can anyone guess how we do this?”

Hermione automatically raised her hand. 

“Anyone apart from Hermione?”

Harry was really nailing his teacher's voice, she felt as if she were fifteen again, listening to Snape dismiss her raised hand in potions class. 

“Petrificus Totalus”, drawled Malfoy beside her. 

“Yes, exactly Malfoy. Watch out Hermione, he's rather good at that one.” Harry laughed with a jokey wink. 

Nobody laughed with him. 

“Very well then, in partners I want you to practice. I want a nice clean duel from each of you. You can pick which one of you is casting the body-bind first, your partner is allowed to fight back with light Jinxes or defensive charms. I’ll be walking around to observe.” 

It seemed like Harry had indeed preassigned the partners before Malfoy had arrived, as the rest of the recruits had already moved into their groups. Hermione turned, walking to the corner in which she’d placed her belongings earlier. She heard his strong footsteps follow her. ‘ _I can do this’_ she thought to herself, _‘treat him like any other opponent’._ She drew a deep breath, turning towards him.

“You can cast Malfoy, I’ll be the fugitive.”

“Fine.” He discarded his coat on top of a radiator next to him.

He pulled his wand from the holster. She did the same.

He hesitated.

She sunk into her casting stance, he followed, they began.

She dodged his first attempt, sliding swiftly to her right.

He tried to hit her again, she cast a shield charm.

His face grew tenser with each attempt, she took advantage. 

“Locomotor Wibbly.”

He narrowly avoided her jinx, rolling onto his side then standing in quick succession. He’d built up some athleticism since school, performing swift actions with ease. It was difficult to ignore the inappropriate thoughts whilst watching his biceps tense as he pushed himself up. Despite her better judgement, she was rather enjoying herself. Malfoy increased his pace, casting several times in a few movements, hitting Hermione on his third attempt. Her body froze, arms snapping to her sides, she fell backwards. She’d expected to hit her head on the hard wood, instead she felt a soft pillowed surface underneath her. 

“Rennervate.” 

Malfoy hadn’t appeared to move from his position, still three feet away from her, staring down at the floor. She sat up, turning her head to check if she had imagined the pillowed surface. She hadn’t. A small white bed pillow lay behind her, a low voice whispered “evanesco”, it instantly disappeared before her eyes. She spun her head back towards Malfoy’s direction.

“I don’t need pillows Malfoy, I can handle a bump on the head.”

“I think you’re forgetting you don’t have your mane to cushion you today, Granger.”

“I won’t be conjuring a pillow for you.”

“You’re presuming you’ll be able to hit me.”

“Oh, I’ll hit you.”

“Prove it.”

She felt her cheeks pink at the challenge, she hoped he presumed she was embarrassed, she was actually rather aroused. She rose to her feet.

“My turn.”

“Go ahead Granger, I’m open.”

October 5th 1999

Draco had managed to steady his occlumency when Granger had disappeared earlier. He’d excused himself to a corridor for a few minutes, braced himself against a wall, inhaling heavily. ‘ _You’re okay, it’s only six weeks. You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine,’_ he told himself. He had dealt with worse, he had hidden his feelings from his father, his aunt, Snape, even voldemort. He’d held his composure when they’d pried inside his mind, when they’d attempted to rip open his thoughts, he’d kept her beneath the waters, hidden in the depths. He could do this. He saw the waves calming, he compartmentalised his feelings, _‘it’s a futile crush, a pipe dream, get a grip of yourself Draco, you can do this’_ it took several minutes before he felt the cold of his Occlumency rush through his head once more. He took a deep shaky breath before re-entering the room. 

He managed to retain his composure until they began duelling. She held such an alluring expression when she was concentrating, it almost irritated him. She’d managed to block several of his attempts to hit her with ease, sliding gracefully or casting a shield effortlessly. He felt his stomach fluttering watching her, his brain was trying desperately to suppress the feeling. It was a nightmare fighting against himself, he grew increasingly irritable every time he missed and had to watch her refined movements again. Anger coursed through his veins as he desperately grappled with his restraint. He cast once, twice, a third time, all in the space of a minute. He’d managed to hit her on his last attempt. She froze, he panicked. Time seemed to slow as the charm took over her body, he wanted to catch her as she fell backwards, to protect her small frame from any damage, his hand abruptly jerked towards her. He knew he couldn’t touch her, he’d lose the little composure he had left, he’d become a pathetic puddle of desire at the contact. He righted himself, conjuring a pillow for her head to fall on.

He was overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions, the cold restriction of his occlumency didn’t seem to help make their interactions easier. He didn’t want to be angry, he didn’t want to avoid looking at her, it was so much easier before the war, before he’d had to hide her deep within the trenches of his mind. He cared too much. He was trying too hard, he felt himself ready to burst. He was using the same amount of restraint that he had in his private legilimency sessions with Bellatrix. He was losing himself in the anger he felt toward his feelings, reprimanding himself for his subconscious arousal. It was useless to not let himself give in slightly when his body had such a reaction to her. He’d rather be secretly aroused than outwardly angry. He couldn’t risk becoming enraged during these sessions, he’d never forgive himself if he hurt her again, he’d caused enough damage. Reluctantly, he pulled back. He let himself drink in her still figure, catching his breath, attempting to channel the stony demeanour he’d possessed at school. 

He revived her, vanishing the pillow once she had fully sat up. In typical Granger fashion, she reprimanded him for his gesture. He wondered if anyone else enjoyed her tantrums as much as he did. If their eyes focused on the way her brows furrowed when she was angry, if their heart skipped when she turned on her stern tone, he hoped he was the only one. He couldn’t help challenging her, watching her face flush with rage as he asked her to prove herself. He felt himself calming without the strain of his overbearing occlumency, teasing her felt so natural, so good. He allowed himself this. _‘You don’t have to hide her anymore, nobody will ever have to know’_ he told himself.

She rose from the floor, taking her original casting stance.

She cast, he threw up a shield. She cast again, he swerved to his right to avoid it. She missed the next three times, he ducked and dived to evade her spells. She stopped.

“Why aren’t you casting back? Harry said to use jinxes.”

He turned to look at Potter, he was strolling around the room, nodding silently to himself while watching the Hufflepuff man and Gryffindor beater duel. 

“I don’t think I need to Granger, your aim is way off.” He used his most patronising drawl.

He was growing more lax with his restraint, just to see how angry he could get her. It was too fun to resist. She looked enraged, her hands balling into tight fists, she even growled, causing his cock to twitch in his trousers. She was magnificent. He wanted to provoke her until she marched over to him, anger boiling, then he’d push up against the wall and taste the rage on her tongue. He was willing to let go of his occlumency all together to enjoy her in all her glory, until Potter appeared at his side and he remembered where he was, who he was. He could tease her, but his perverted fantasies were just that, fantasies.

“How’s it going Malfoy? I saw that you managed to hit Hermione before.”

“It’s going fine, Potter. Granger hasn’t hit me yet.”

“Oh great, that’ll give me a chance to see how you defend yourself.”

“Actually Harry, Malfoy hasn’t been defending himself. He’s just been jumping around like a lunatic dodging, he’s barely used a shield.”

 _‘She’s snitching to the teacher, what a little minx’_ he thought to himself.

“I haven’t needed to, I’m perfectly capable of avoiding you without a shield.”

“Okay, let’s see it then.” Potter took a step backwards and held out his hand, instructing them to begin.

They returned to their stances, he met her gaze for the first time since he’d arrived and smirked, _‘Come on Granger, hit me’._ She narrowed her eyes, lunging forward to cast. He jumped to his right, he ducked, he swerved. Each time she missed, the grip on her wand tightened in vexation, her other hand balling into a fist once more.

“Good Malfoy, nice smooth movements.” Potter nodded his head in approval.

Suddenly, Granger dropped her wand. Draco stood upright, confused.

“Given up?”

She met his eyes once more and growled “Petrificus Totalus” in a low voice.

A jet of magic clapped through the air between them, hitting him square in the chest. Draco felt his arms lock at his sides, his whole body froze, he dropped backwards to the floor.

“Hermione I told you no wandless!” Grunted Potter from somewhere in front of him.

“Oh please, he was asking for it! You let him roll around without even using magic for ages!”

She could perform wandless magic. If he could move he’d have to adjust his trousers.

_‘My gods, what a witch.’_

October 5th 1999

Hermione watched Harry help Malfoy up from his position on the floor after reviving him. 

“That won’t happen again Malfoy, wandless magic isn’t allowed here. Though Hermione is right, you really should be defending yourself with spells.”

Draco seemed to dismiss him entirely, meeting her eyes with a look of pure bewilderment on his face.

“You do wandless? Since when?”

She smirked, he almost seemed impressed. Harry coughed loudly to get her attention, he shot a disapproving glance at her, wiping the smirk off her face.

“Harry’s right, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Bullshit. That was your best move all day, Granger.”

“Please don’t encourage her Malfoy, there’s no wandless magic allowed during fieldwork as an auror.”

“Why not? She has a clear advantage over an opponent, why shouldn’t she use it?”

Hermione was exhilarated by his approval. She couldn’t help smiling inconspicuously as he defended her against the stupid ministry policy.

“Malfoy, that’s enough. Hermione knows she was in the wrong, she won’t be doing it again. Are we clear?” He glanced between them for their acknowledgement, she nodded, Malfoy hummed.

A muffled shriek came from the centre of the room, it appeared that one of the recruits in the group of three had been at the receiving end of a melofors jinx, subsequently struggling to free his head from a giant pumpkin. Harry ran over to aid the man. Hermione scoffed in amusement. 

“Do you know those three? I don’t remember seeing them at school.” Draco appeared to be amused by the scene as well. 

“No. I don’t think they went to Hogwarts. I can’t even remember their names.”

“They seem a bit- ”

“Strange?” “-odd.” They spoke at the same time. 

She glanced over the men. They were certainly odd looking, they all appeared to be the exact same height and had the exact same body shape, almost resembling a pear. She had never seen them at Hogwarts, yet she was sure they she recalled their English accents from earlier that morning. 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

“When did you learn wandless magic? That’s some advanced shit.”

“I’ve been practicing since May, I only know a few charms and the odd curse. It’s useless now.”

“They can’t restrict your magic surely, what if you have no wand?”

“Harry’s never had that issue, besides it’s the rules.”

“Fuck the rules.”

“We should refrain from revolutionary talk on our first day Malfoy.”

He was surprisingly easy to talk to, considering how nervous she had been. Something about his smooth voice was almost soothing, his approval had caused her heart to flutter in an embarrassing fashion. The release she felt after finally hitting him was electrifying, he’d wound her up so tightly. She’d expected him to be vexed, to complain to Harry how unfair it was that she’d tricked him. She felt herself unravel with giddiness when he had sat up, astonished. 

They trained like that for the rest of the day, mocking each other until they’d successfully performed each spell on Harry’s list. He’d jump around avoiding her aim, she’d cast shield after shield. There was little conversation, apart from the exhilarating trash talk. All the pent up anger they’d had towards each other in school was being released through their elaborate play fighting. It wasn’t until they had stopped around lunchtime that she righted herself, remembering who he was, and judging by his demeanour he had done the same. Their coy smiles slowly fading before Harry called them to the front of the room with the other recruits. 

“So guys, well done today. I know it’s easy to get lost in the fun of duelling, but we have to remember why we’re here. Robards will be in shortly to explain how serious the situation is out there, we predict there's over two hundred Deatheaters currently on the run, there’s over one hundred other magical beings wanted for questioning. I’ve only been with the auror’s office for around a year but I’ve lost countless colleagues on skirmishes already, I cannot stress the importance of this training.”

“How many Deatheaters have you caught in total?” One of the three unknown men asked excitedly.

“How many are in Azkaban?” Another had joined in, staring at Harry with a doting expression.

“Do we get to keep their wands as trophies?” The third questioned. Harry had warned Hermione that there had been some new recruits joining just to indulge in naïve fantasies of playing superhero. This definitely seemed to apply to the pear shaped men.

Hermione saw Malfoy tense beside her in the corner of her eye.

“We’ll be talking about the numbers more when Robards gets here. You’ll be expected to fill a quota if you’re training as a full auror. He’ll go through the logistics of that with you, I just wanted to make sure you’re all aware of what you’re signing up for, this job is extremely dangerous currently, you all need to be prepared for anything that comes your way.”

The three pear shaped men were still staring at Harry in awe, their eyes lighting up as he described the dangers of the job. Wayne Hopkins and Andrew Kirke seemed considerably less excited, which settled Hermione. Far too often during the war she had met individuals who had no understanding of the danger they were in, they always paid the price. Hermione could see that Malfoy had clenched his jaw for the entire duration of Harry’s speech, he was clearly uncomfortable. She wished she could soothe him, touch his hand softly to make sure he was okay. Instead, she opted to sway the conversation away from hunting Deatheaters.

“What’s the most important thing you’ve learned during your time as an auror, Harry?”

“Good question, thanks Hermione. I’d say knowing when the right time to act is essential to your career. It’s something I’ve had to work very hard to learn, sometimes it’s better to weigh your options instead of running into a situation with no plan. There was a skirmish not long ago in a forest in Hampshire, we were trying to find a group of wanted werewolves that had raided a local muggle village for food when-”

He was cut off by the sounds of the heavy wooden door slamming open, a dark haired man waltzed into the room.

“Potter, I’ll take over from here.”

“Robards, of course I’ll just er- sit in, I guess.”

Harry walked to join Hermione, shooting her a wry smile. 

“Right then, I’m Gawain Robards. Head of the DMLE and auror office at the ministry of magic, it’s nice to see some familiar faces-” he smiled in the direction of the three inquisitive men “of course it’s not so nice to see some others.” He flashed a heinous sarcastic smile at Malfoy.

Hermione turned to Harry, mouth open in disbelief. He immediately shook his head, eyes begging her not to say anything. Hermione could hear a quiet snigger from the mouth of the ginger pear shaped man, who proceeded to elbow his two companions in amusement. She noticed Malfoy’s hands ball into fists at his side.

“Now, I hear Potter has done some spell work with you all this morning. Most of your combat training is a precaution, if I had my way you’d be thrown straight into fieldwork to fend for yourselves, alas the ministry have mandated that you complete six weeks of training. I’ll be here at the end of each week to check your progress.”

A hand shot up.

“Ah, Mr Malfoy. I’ll be taking questions at the end of my presentation, I’m sure we have lots to talk about together.” Robards mockingly sweet tone prompted more laughs from the pear men.

“Sorry. I’ve heard wandless magic isn’t allowed in the field, why is that exactly?”

Hermione whipped her head in his direction. He was prying on her behalf.

“Fieldwork won’t concern you too much Mr Malfoy, if I understood the minister’s request correctly you’ll be our glorified fact checker, aiding us in locking up your former comrades.”

“If he won’t be in the field, why are you forcing him to train?” The words tumbled from Hermione’s mouth before she could stop them.

“As I’ve said, Miss Granger, questions after my presentation-” his tone was noticeably more irritable, “-look, I think we’re all aware of Mr Malfoy’s past, if the decision were mine he wouldn’t be allowed within seventy miles of the ministry. Luckily for him, the minister doesn’t seem to feel the same way and has requested he complete the mandatory auror training, on the off chance he may be required in the field.”

She felt her cheeks flush, she was suddenly abnormally protective. She couldn’t believe that an auror would be so openly ignorant, Draco was arguably the most valuable asset the ministry had and their head auror was willing to cast him aside for the sake of pride.

“That's preposterous, Malfoy was essential to our victory-”

“Granger.” Malfoy warned from beside her.

“If you’ll both be so kind to refrain from interrupting further, I’ll get on with my presentation.”

Robards then proceeded to spend three hours telling eccentric war stories, he seemed to be the protagonist in most. He’d told the group of auror recruits, they’d be required to bring in at least fifteen suspects each quarter, Hermione’s department would do the questioning and attempt to gain information on the locations of Deatheater camps. Oddly enough, the auror office had done away with their undesirable list, apparently all fleeing Deatheaters were now of ‘equal degeneracy and cowardice’ thus making them all equally undesirable. She couldn’t help glancing at Malfoy with every jab Robards threw his way, he was surprisingly composed. Halfway through Robards’ half assed explanation of how aurors analyse information they gain from suspects, a noise began blaring from his pocket. 

“Potter, we’re needed. Let’s go.” He marched from the room, without another word to the recruits.

“Okay, that’s all for today everyone. Well done, I’ll see you all tomorrow.” Harry blurted out before skipping swiftly to follow him.

Hermione looked around the room at the other recruits, they all looked as dazed as her.

“Well then, see you all tomorrow?” Remarked Wayne Hopkins, who had already begun to retreat toward his belongings. Hermione was just about to follow his lead, when a low voice spoke her name.

“Granger.”

“Malfoy.” she replied in acknowledgement, turning to meet his eyes.

“I wanted to thank you, in person, for your testimony.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. Thank you for my gift.”

“My mother insisted.”

“I supposed as much, you were never really the gift giving type.”

“Indeed.”

There was an awkwardly serious air between them, as if they’d both completely forgotten the playfulness earlier, it was almost certainly due to Robards ridiculous display.

“Look, if we’re going to be working together for six weeks perhaps we better clear the air.”

He seemed genuine in his sentiment, Hermione nudged her head towards a far corner of the room, ushering him to follow her as she walked. He strode over, leaned against the wall and lowered his voice to a near whisper.

“I want- I need you to know that just because I helped you and your friends in the end, doesn’t make me one of you now. If I had the choice I’d never see any of you again.”

“Wow Malfoy, this is clearing the air?”

“I just- I don’t need you to defend me, to the Wizengamot, to Robards, to anyone.”

“What I choose to do has nothing to do with your needs.”

“Then why are you so determined to portray me as a righteous man to anyone who will listen?”

The question sent fire and ice through her veins, they collided in her chest with a large thump. She wished she could confess her affections, shove him against the wall and let him taste the truth as it poured out of her.

“ I consider any information you have, essential to the ministry, Malfoy. That doesn’t make you righteous, it makes you lucky.”

Without waiting for his response, she grabbed her belongings and stormed out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and Kudos if you enjoyed this chapter, and let me know if you're enjoying the story!  
> Hope you all had a great new year.  
> I just finalised the timeline for this story, just to warn you its gunna be LONG so buckle in!  
> Also just a note, as this story isn't a POV I've written any inner thoughts the characters have in italic. In most instances I added a 'he/she thought' but just for future reference.


	5. V

October 5th 1999

Hermione felt the couch shift behind her, she knew it was Ginny from the scent of cinnamon shampoo, a gift Hermione had given her last Christmas.

“How was your first day?”

“I can’t talk about it.”

“You can. Ron, George, and Harry are at work, Neville’s visiting his parents, even Luna’s out. Though she’s only at that apothecary stand in Carkitt Market, so you better hurry if you actually want to talk about it.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so supportive of this Gin, if any of the others knew I’d be thrown out on the streets.”

Ginny was bizarrely understanding when it came to Hermione’s feelings for Malfoy; she’d lightly tease her on the subject, but would always be there with a bottle of Elderflower wine and some supportive speech, whenever Hermione needed it.

“You can’t help who you like Hermione, I doubt I’d be with Harry if you could. Being with ‘the boy who lived’ isn’t exactly peaceful if you hadn’t noticed. I’ve had so many sleepless nights over the past four years, I thought I’d never see him again when you all ran off, I watched Hagrid carry his lifeless body through Hogwarts, now I have to watch him run off to fight Deatheaters everyday. Loving someone isn’t easy, it hurts, burns you from the inside out. I don’t want to contribute to your pain; sure, Malfoy was a shit and I don’t fully understand why you feel the way you do about him, but whatever, to each their own. Besides, what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help you shag your dream guy?”

Hermione chuckled at her friend’s brazen words.

“It was so strange today. He seemed so reserved at first, like he was holding something back. We were practicing body-bind curses on each other, then when he hit me, he conjured a pillow for me so I didn’t hurt my head, but we’d barely said two words to each other.” Hermione curled her knees up on the couch, facing Ginny.

“That is strange.”

“After that, when it was my turn, he was provoking me, it was almost fun. He was actually surprisingly easy to talk to. He was trying to get me fired up; it was like he wanted me to hit him, but he wanted me to work for it. When I hit him wandlessly, he was shocked. I thought he’d rant to Harry but he praised me, defended me even. Afterwards, Robards came and was so openly rude to him, I couldn’t help standing up for him. Then at the end of the day, after we’d had a- well after Robards chastised him in front of everyone, he felt it necessary to tell me that he didn’t want me to defend him; that if he had it his way, he’d never see me again.”

“Sounds like he’s embarrassed.”

“What does he have to be embarrassed about? Even Harry admits that he’d be dead if Draco hadn’t thrown him that wand.”

“Oh Hermione, you are so blinded by love.”

“I'm not in love with him, it’s just a naïve infatuation.”

“Sure, that’s why you’ve forgotten that his entire family is made up of Deatheaters and he almost killed our headmaster; not to mention his relentless bullying or the fact you were tortured in his house.”

“I haven’t forgotten any of that, I just know that without him we’d-”

“-All be dead. Yeah, you keep saying. I have to say I agree with Malfoy.”

“What?” Hermione furrowed her brows in bewilderment, usually Ginny didn’t offer more than a nod of agreement whenever she explained how vital Malfoy was to Harry’s victory.

“You are defending him too much. You’re forcing the ‘good guy’ narrative on him, he clearly doesn’t want it. You’ve forgiven him before he’s even apologized. Let him earn his redemption, one good act doesn’t absolve him from years of terrible choices.”

“I can’t blame him for his upbringing-”

“-You can’t erase it either, you don’t have to keep justifying his actions to me, to anyone. You liked him before he helped Harry, so you must have accepted his shortcomings then, why are you trying to ignore them now? Let him prove himself, if he’s still a terrible person I’m sure we’ll know fairly quickly. If he’s not, hurrah, you can shag him guilt free. Just give him some time.”

Hermione was shocked at how reasonable Ginny’s logic was, perhaps that was indeed what he had meant. He clearly wanted to clear his name, he could’ve run the day the ministry released him; instead he was attending his training, sitting patiently whilst his future boss talked down to him, he had even been pleasant to her whilst they trained. Ginny was right.

“Gin, I think you’re right, I’m doing too much.”

“Yeah I am.” Ginny responded as she inspected the ends of her hair.

Hermione smiled as she lightly slapped the witch on the shoulder.

“When did you become so wise?”

  
“I was always wise, you were all too busy to notice. Now, what’s your plan of seduction?” She drawled the syllables of the last word in a low deep voice, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Hold on, you’re only right about the forgiveness shit. There will be no seduction, that’s a one sided thing.”

“Don’t make me give you a pep talk on how hot you are these days, I’m all pepped out.”

“You have grown exceptionally beautiful Hermione, especially since you fixed your teeth.” A melodic voice spoke from behind the couch. Hermione turned to find Luna in the doorway, her hands and face covered in a glittery substance.

“Luna! When did you get here? What’s on your face?”

“Pearl dust, apparently Moon frogs can see it from space; I’m going to spell out a message in the garden for them.”

Luna moved to take a seat on one of the leather wingback chairs, opposite Hermione and Ginny. Out of all the residents of Grimmauld place, Hermione saw Luna the least. She had developed a deep fascination with a new apothecary stand, she often brought home buckets of ingredients; all of which were said to be attractive to a multitude of magical creatures. She was there most days until the early evening. She’d skip straight to her room whenever she arrived home, and would only leave to head out to the apothecary again the next day. Hermione occasionally saw her sitting on her window sill staring into the sky or with her face buried in the quibbler once a month at the breakfast table. According to Neville she preferred to be alone most of the time, which had meant their fling after the final battle had been very short lived.

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna say?” Ginny asked, returning to tend to the ends of her hair.

“I’m not sure yet. Dad says to keep it brief, so I don’t accidentally offend them.”

“What if they can’t read English?” Ginny poked with artificial curiosity.

“Oh I’m sure they do, they’re said to be very clever creatures. I hope you don’t mind me suggesting Hermione, but if you want to look beautiful for Malfoy, you shouldn’t plait your hair. It’s rather horrible actually.”

Hermione chose to glaze over the offhand comment; opting instead to find out if she’d accidentally confessed her embarrassing secret to the whimsical witch.

“Luna, how much of our conversation did you hear?”

“I came in after Ginny told you I wasn’t here.”

“And you didn’t think to let us know? Considering that Ginny was assuring me that you were not home?” She lunged forward with panic.

“Well that’s why I didn’t say anything.”

Ginny held her hand up to stop Hermione from babbling some lame threat to Luna.

“Luna, Hermione and I were discussing an extremely private matter, she’d like your assurance that you won’t repeat anything you’ve heard.” Ginny softly spoke.

  
Ginny was far more composed since she had started playing for the Holyhead Harpies in September, Hermione suspected she was taking out all her aggression on the field. It certainly made her more peaceful at home. She had matured at an alarming rate, she was considered to be the mother figure at Grimmauld, despite being the youngest, she’d consoled both Ron and Hermione after their breakup, taken care of George when his depression had hit him hardest all while maintaining a seemingly perfect relationship with Harry.

“Oh I won’t, I just wanted to tell her to fix her hair.” Luna whispered back, as if she hadn’t already expressed her disdain for her neat plait.

  
Ginny turned towards Hermione, she raised her eyebrows in a cocky fashion; no doubt crowning herself as ‘Hermione’s problem solver’ in her head. She took a double take after she had glanced over the plait that lay on Hermione’s right shoulder.

“What?” Hermione asked whilst fingering the cluster of hair, “Is it really that bad?”

Ginny swallowed her lips in an amused fashion, “It’s not great.”

“It’s terrible,” added Luna “you shouldn’t ever pull your hair back.”

  
Hermione huffed and fell back into her seat.

  
  


October 5th 1999

“Darling you’re home! How was your first day?” Narcissa spoke from the head of the dining room table, in front of her was a feast big enough for six people; a roasted pheasant sat in the centre, surrounded by several oversized pies and bowls filled to the brim with vegetables.

“Mother, what is all this?” He asked, eyes widening in shock.  
She moved around the table, shuffling towards him.

“Well, I had the elves prepare us a small celebration, do you like it?”

She knew the way to his heart, her eyes searched for approval as he took in the excessive display. He looked back at her, there was no way he could tell her how unnecessary her gesture was; she’d likely spent the entire week anticipating his reaction.

“It’s lovely, thank you mother.”

She stepped forward with a sigh of relief and cupped his cheeks in her hands.

“I know that you probably think it is not worth celebrating, given that it’s compulsory you attend, but I’m still proud of you my boy, this is the right path for us.”

He resisted the urge to tell her that she had very little to be proud of, choosing instead to direct her back towards her seat. Before he had even managed to lay his napkin on his lap, she had an abundance of questions.

“So, who is training with you? Was Mr Potter nice? Did you learn anything new? Did they tell you more about your role?”

Draco hadn’t had time to reflect properly on his day, he’d been informed by Otho that he was to head straight to the dining room as soon as he walked through the door. Truthfully he had wanted to gather his thoughts, he’d been through a whirlwind of emotions in the last 8 hours. He wanted time to figure out how he should approach his second day. It was unlikely that he’d get it.

“Potter was fine, very professional; a natural leader. There’s only a few other recruits: two from Hogwarts that I barely knew, three strange men who appear to be... familiar with my previous endeavours and uh- Granger is there actually. She’s to be my partner.”

“Oh she is? I remember her mentioning a new job in her letter, I didn’t picture her as the auror type.”

There was a small twinge of anger in Draco’s chest at his mother’s confession; he pushed it away using his Occlumency, desperate to play nice. A small carving knife levitated towards the pheasant, Draco grabbed a bowl of potatoes and began to serve them.

“I can’t say that the head auror was particularly pleasant.”

His mother hummed as she sipped on her wine, they’d both expected that he would experience some animosity. Draco had faced far worse than Robards: he’d sat a table choking on dark magic whilst devoted fanatics celebrated death and torture, he’d had his body and mind defiled for the failures of his father, he’d listened to Hermione’s bones thrash with pain on the floor of his drawing room; he could handle a disgruntled auror.

“Is Miss Granger to be your partner after you finish training?”

  
He spluttered the red wine he had sipped back into his cup at the thought. Though some part of him wanted to call Granger his partner more than anything, his ability to control himself was predicated on the fact he’d only be around her for six weeks.

“I’m not sure aurors work with a partner mother, I think it’s just for training.”

“Nonsense! Whenever I had to deal with the logistics of your father’s case it was always the same two men.”

“That may have just been out of inspired hatred, I imagine whoever landed father’s case wished to keep hold of it.”

  
His mother looked down to her dinner plate in resignation.

“Well, I think it would be good for you. It’d be good for the Malfoy image for us to be seen mixing with muggle-borns, besides she’s grown rather beautiful; she was magnificent at your trial.”  
Draco tried his hardest to ignore the images of her small waist and tamed curls that were brought to the forefront of his mind.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Perhaps it would do you good to find a nice young lady, a stress reliever!”

“Mother please-”

“-Oh Draco, live a little; you’re a young handsome gentleman. Enjoy your freedom.”

  
He nodded and smiled, picking at the potatoes on his plate. He hadn’t the heart to tell his mother that he would be alone for the foreseeable future, possibly forever, that his taste in women was practically non-existent all bar one unattainable witch. Instead he sat and made polite conversation; tensing slightly whenever his mother mentioned her name, but still providing the answers to her endless questions in a cool, calm manner.

  
After his dinner, he’d collapsed into his old leather chesterfield in front the fireplace in his room; trying to determine the best course of action for his next collision with Granger. The occlumency was too much, that was obvious. The pull of his restraint and the pang of arousal he had felt just from her presence, were not a good mix. It had caused an unrivalled anger to spread rapidly through his blood and radiate into his skin, luckily he had eased on his restraint before he did any damage.He knew if his anger came out in a burst again he ran the risk of harming her. He was normally calm and collected when he was using his occlumency, but it would only work if his body would cooperate with his mind. That was impossible around Granger. His Occlumency had protected him against a dark lord, but was evidently no match for the way Granger’s hips swayed when she was about to cast or how she wet her lips whenever she was concentrating; he needed a different approach. It would be difficult to allow her in, yet it was the best option, for both of their sakes.

  
He formally decided that tomorrow, he’d use as little Occlumency as possible when it came to her. He’d keep conversation light but not friendly, try to talk as little as possible. He wondered if she’d even want to work with him again after he had berated her for defending him; she was probably begging Potter for a new partner this very minute. He knew he couldn’t take it if he had to watch her partner with someone else, it might even be harder than having her as his own partner. He’d have to watch her eyes on another, watch someone else’s hand grab her as they helped her to stand, hear her laugh in delight at having a new partner, someone good, someone pure, not a Deatheater. He tried his hardest to recall the way she’d looked at the Gryffindor beater when they were talking, perhaps they were flirting, maybe they’d had a fling at school that Draco was unaware of. The man had smiled at her, called her by her first name; they were definitely familiar. He was getting lost in his own thoughts, never ending scenarios of men pining after her while he stood and watched. He took a deep shaking breath, calmed the waves and focused on his plan. Calm, light, quiet; that would get him through this.

October 6th 1999

Thankfully, Harry had chosen to show a presentation on the various pieces of auror equipment on Hermione’s second morning. Giving her time to grow accustom to Malfoy’s presence. Harry had placed seven side chairs in a semi circle surrounding a large chalkboard. Hermione had tried her hardest to pay attention, but after twenty minutes of Harry relaying information she’d already read in ‘The Auror’s handbook: A Handy Guide for Getting By!’, she’d chosen to stare at Malfoy instead. He was sitting directly opposite her, they were both at the ends of the semi-circle, the golden light of the morning shimmered onto his face making it almost impossible to ignore him. She’d refrained from staring too much at him yesterday, so she hadn’t properly taken in how much he had changed since school. His frame was certainly wider, his shoulders hid the chair he sat on completely, his arms were almost twice the size of Hermione's, they bulged from their position, tight against his chest. His face was almost the same, less boyish but still pointy, his jaw had sharpened and protruded more obviously now, his mouth was still the same tense straight line; the only unrecognizable feature on his face were his eyes. She’d remembered them specifically for their coldness, how they would glitter with glee when he’d insult her or her friends, they were softer now, sadder. The ashen colour was almost serene, the glitter no longer seemed cold, instead soothing. She had got completely lost in them before realising he had met her stare. She panicked at the contact, sharply turning her head towards Harry.

“As you all may know, the Auror training programme is usually gruelling and extensive; normally your training would last three years and consist of various simulations to test your capabilities. This is not currently an option given how… dire the- uh- situation has become. I have spoken with the minister, who has assured me that proper training will commence once he feels we have a strong enough grip on the current situation. The training techniques you will learn will be a condensed version of the proper auror training, it will be sufficient enough for the situations we will encounter in the field if we all pay attention and try our hardest. This is a very difficult programme to enter, though we have an alarming lack of recruits currently, the ministry believes fully in your capabilities; we just need to prepare you for what's out there.”

Hermione hadn’t left London much since returning from Hogwarts. The magical crime within the city was mostly in Diagon Alley, so she hadn’t seen any of the horrors that Harry often described to her. She’d read in the daily prophet this morning that Robards and Harry had captured Harold Parkinson last night, Pansy Parkinson’s father, he’d been on the run since the final battle. She hadn’t remembered his involvement with the dark lord explicitly, when she’d asked Harry he’d simply shrugged, implying that fleeing was enough to incriminate him in Robards’ eyes. She’d suspected he was financing some dark schemes for Voldemort, he didn’t seem like much of a fighter. She wondered if Draco had known him, he unquestionably knew Pansy well. If he had known him, the news hadn’t seemed to affect him; he was just as stone faced as yesterday. It was almost impossible to imagine such affluent people living in the conditions she had on her horcrux hunt, how they could go from living in manors to tents, from eating three course meals to barely eating a meal a day. Though she supposed the freedom on the run was probably better than being locked in Azkaban.

“I’m glad to see you’re all wearing your holsters, they are an essential piece of equipment. You’ll be given a shielded vest attachment that blends into your clothing, you are expected to wear it whenever you’re in the field. It’s also your wand holster, badge holder, there’s room for specialised equipment and there’s even,” Harry pulled on a strap of his chest holster to reveal a delicate piece of tubing, he brought it to his mouth and whispered into it “a microphone!” The sound seemed to funnel directly into Hermione’s ears without ricochetting off the walls in the room.

“Cool right? They’re charmed to connect with any other holsters in a fifty foot radius, so we can talk to each other without giving away positions; only the person wearing a holster can hear sound from them, the noise travels directly into your ears only.”

Harry was smiling gleefully, clearly still amazed by the innovative technology of his holster.

“With that in mind, our exercise for today is going to be a test of your teamwork skills. I’ve prepared three rooms downstairs to simulate a low level skirmish, they’re basically multi-level houses contained within a room, filled with animated training dummies. You and your partner will have to clear the rooms, taking down all the dummies as fast as possible using your combined wits and talking only through the microphone, any speech above a certain decibel will trigger a charmed bucket to throw some unknown liquids over your heads. There’ll be traps and tricks to look out for, nothing lethal of course, it will also be almost pitch black. I’m going to pass out blueprints of your assigned rooms, I’ll give you thirty minutes to devise a plan before we head down there, good luck everyone!”

  
  


6th October 1999

Much to Draco’s surprise, Granger hadn’t requested to switch partners. She’d worn her hair down today, when he’d entered the room to find her curls framing her face he’d bit his lip so hard it bled. He spent the majority of the presentation from Potter nursing it with his tongue. She looked ravishing. She was just the way he liked her, hair wild, determined expression and tight trousers. He’d mostly resisted the urge to gawp at her until he felt her brown eyes on him, she was staring. She seemed to be in somewhat of a daydream as she held her gaze for a minute when he’d looked over. Her eyes were glossed over, tracing the details of his face until brown collided with grey and she snapped her head towards Potter, her cheeks flushing pink. He hadn’t looked at her since, afraid he would be the one caught staring. But now as she sauntered towards him, blueprints in hand, wiping the smile she had directed at Potter from her face , it was impossible not to look. The sway of her hips was hypnotic, he only managed to tear his eyes away when she spoke.

“Malfoy.” She nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“Granger.”

“I assume you’ve managed to get over yourself overnight and are able to work with me?”

Cheeky.Little.Minx. It was definitely going to be difficult to restrain himself today.

“I’m perfectly capable Granger, as long as you don’t beg Potter to forgive me if I make a mistake.”

“A nonissue now, you have my word.”

She seemed so confident whenever she spoke to him, he was jealous. She was able to dismiss him so easily yet it took copious amounts of effort for him just to say her name.

“Very well then.”

  
He conjured a table and summoned two chairs from their earlier meeting. She lay out the plans, her fingers smoothing out creases in the paper, he tore his eyes away.

“Looks like we have a three storey plan, multiple large rooms, two balconies. Can training dummies jump from balconies?”

“Depends how animated Potter has made them.”

  
She took her seat in the chair beside him.

“Do you have a preferred position?”

  
His mind spun with a thousand images of her: on top of him, bent over in front of him, underneath him. He shook them from his head. He could think about that at home. From his position standing above her, he could see that her cheeks had lightly pinked from the innuendo.

“What's that?”

“Would you like to enter first and me follow or the other way round?”

Unfortunately Draco was more than familiar with the extensive planning it took to pull off a skirmish; it was one of his father’s favourite ways to redeem himself with Voldemort. His father would become infatuated with battle plans, pouring over them for hours on end, making sure Draco had memorised every inch of the blueprints. Draco had taken part in raids on the homes of several ministers, safe houses for the order, and even the ministry itself. It hadn’t been a very pleasant experience.

“Well, as you are significantly smaller than me you should go first; I don’t want to block your view.”

“Wow, I thought you’d be overcome with chivalry and insist on guarding me.”

“I can’t imagine you’d appreciate that.”

It grew easier to talk to her with every word, he felt himself letting go of the worry, the nerves. Her presence put him at ease without his Occlumency; he’d never imagined it would be this way.

“So I’ll go first, I’ll clear the two left rooms, you can take the right.”

“I think we should clear a floor each after that, if we have any issues we have the micro-thing Potter was giddy over.”

“Microphone.”

“Right.”

“We should be using that anyway, this test is clearly about our communication.”

“Right.”

He felt himself unable to offer more than affirmations for a while. His control had melted, yet he was calmer than he had felt in years. Her voice alone was soothing the waves inside his mind, a silent ocean, tamed by her words. It was arduous to meet her gaze, he wondered if she felt the affection pouring from his eyes whenever they collided with her own. He watched her pour over the blueprints, offering multiple options and opinions on their plan; he would nod and maintain his even, steady breathing. By the time she had finished he was almost drunk from the scent of her, she had transfixed him, body and soul, and their time together had barely begun. He was corrupted, there was no way he could ignore his desires. Instead he basked in them, drinking in every ounce of her without crossing their physical barrier. If she only knew what she was doing to him.

  
They finalised their plans, exchanging brief glances and keeping a strict distance from each other.

“Are you ready to start?” She spoke softly.

She rose from her seat, still fingering the edge of the blueprints; the exhilaration for their task bouncing off her skin. Her expression, an echo of the adventurous witch he had watched from afar in their school years.

“Let’s begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I really appreciate the kudos and comments and hope you're enjoying this story.  
> Im debating not having an upload schedule, I tend to be writing most days so I'll just post when I post but it may become less frequent as the chapters grow.  
> Hope you enjoy this one, it's a bit shorter and more dialogue centric but I felt it was right to set the tone.  
> Happy Reading!  
> Ps- this chapter invited my first piece of hate on tumblr lol, thank u romione ppl for having nothing better to do lmao  
> Speaking of which heres my tumblr https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/justpeachwrites


	6. VI

6th October 1999

Harry led Hermione and the other recruits down to a low level basement beneath the training building, the autumn air bit at her exposed forearms as she descended the iron staircase. They reached a corridor encased in concrete with three doors on the left hand side. It seemed like a very intense operation for their second day.

“Alright guys, you have your assigned rooms and your plans, remember to be wary of the traps and tricks. Good luck!”

Harry was noticeably more excited today, he’d clearly had a lot of fun planning out the simulations. Earlier he’d been bouncing around the room, listening into the plans of each group. He’d had noticeable bags under his eyes in the morning, from his skirmish the night before, yet he seemed more energised than ever as he opened each door with a dramatic flair. Hermione and Malfoy were team three, so their door was the furthest down the hall. The simulation was impressive, it truly was a house in a room. The house was around the same size of Grimmauld place, except made from wood and considerably run down. Harry had somehow managed to simulate moonlight in the room, as the door closed behind Hermione and darkness closed in, a small yet blistering bright light shined from the corner; it was bright enough to reflect the outside of the house, but still allowed the secrets to dwell in the shadows. The simulated moonlight tickled the outline of Malfoy’s face, allowing Hermione to see his delicious anticipation as he adjusted his holster. He looked up at her, delicate feathers of platinum dancing across his forehead.

“Ready?”

“Let’s go over the plan again.”

She was thankful for the artificial moonlight, it caressed his sharp features in a tantalising way but thankfully, it still managed to hide a generous amount of his beauty. She’d prefer not to be distracted today, this was a perfect opportunity to show off her skill. She was confident in her ability to pull off a skirmish, she’d been in several tense battles over the years and managed to survive each one with few injuries; in her younger days she’d been useless when she was under pressure, now she thrived.

“You’re first, you clear the left on the bottom floor and I the right, I take the mid level and you take the upper.”

“Okay great, yeah. Are you ready?”

“I'm ready.”

Hermione tried her hardest to avoid his gaze over the past two days, but sometimes her heart gave way before her brain; when the silver containing his soul looked into her it was impossible to look away. It was the same in that moment, as the silver cut through the blackness of the room, something pulled on her, reeling her into his stare. His eyes seemed to be unaffected by the darkness, an almost inhumane colour that held its own light, the radiance of a dream. The only thing that saved her from almost drowning in silver, was a small creak in the house that caused his head to snap back.

“We should go.”

He nodded in agreement, moving to provide a large space for her to walk past him.

“Pull out your microphone Malfoy.” She commanded as she tugged on her own, curling it inwards toward her mouth. She heard a light bristle of fabric from behind her and guessed he had done the same.  
She locked her wand into an offensive position, straightened her shoulders and head, before turning to him once more.

“You can hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Only me? The proximity worked?”

“Only you.” He responded, his tone the most seductively comforting sound she had ever heard; yet there was no time to dwell, as more creaks and bangs came from inside the house. She placed her hand on the entrances’ handle, twisting the cold mental until she heard a faint click. The door swung back with a melodramatic creaking, she took a step inside. She could feel Malfoy’s presence behind her, the heat of his body covering her entirely from their close position. She took a step to her left, carefully scanning the floor with the little light she had for any signs of traps.

“Shall we cast some light?” Another soft whisper directly into her ear, if she hadn't known better she would’ve guessed he was pressed up against her whispering into her curls.

“No, if I know Harry he’s probably banking on that being the first thing we do. We should do this in as much darkness as possible.”

A loud clatter came from the right side of the room, she moved slightly to allow Malfoy to close in; his knees grazing hers, hips almost colliding in the darkness. Just before he moved into the first room, he turned, locking eyes with her once more. A nod exchanged, confirmation of approval, then a bang; he kicked in the door, moving inwards. Hermione was surprised that she was met with only silence for several seconds, until a gust of violent wind slammed the door shut.

“Malfoy, is everything okay?” She whispered into her microphone.

“Fine, go clear your rooms Granger. Quit dawdling.”

She righted herself, feeling her cheeks flush with the embarrassment of her unjustified concern, turning towards the first of her rooms. It was slightly ajar, allowing her to fully open it with a small bump from her boots. A thick fog had possessed the farthest corner of the room, the dark wood floor held a cluster of furniture, the walls shielded with dusty tapestries. There was a small thumping from an ancient looking chest a few steps away from Hermione. She aimed her wand towards it, “revelio”; a small stream of bats burst from the chest, circling the ceiling before transforming into black confetti and falling to the ground surrounding her. She focused her eyes towards the fog in the corner, knowing Harry it was most likely a diversion. In quick succession she cast a levitation charm on each of the tapestries hanging from the wall, two training dummies rapidly rolled out from the last tapestries towards her. She managed to hit one with a swift ‘Confringo’, before ducking behind a piece of the miscellaneous furniture; the splinters of the dummy rained down, clattering against the wooden floors. As Hermione moved towards a better vantage point, a thick tar began to rise from beneath the ground; she jumped up onto a cabinet next to her. The second training dummy began to circle her, closing further in to swipe its wooden arms at her feet.

“Flipendo.”

The dummy collapsed to the ground, the thick tar digesting its form. She cast a vanishing spell on the black tar and clambered from the wobbly furniture.

“Almost done, Granger?” A gravelly voice in her ear.

“I’ve just finished my first room.”

“I’ll help with the next one, let’s get a move on.”

“You should go up.”

“No.”

“Malfoy-”

“Stop wasting time, come on.”

She met him in the hallway, the faint moonlight from a small window revealed his shirt to be soaked through; the light glistening on his wet skin. He nodded toward the final door. Hermione was taken aback by his pace; he moved swiftly, dangerously, lethally. His eyes, once full of serene melancholy, now held the destructive concentration she had seen several times during her duels with Deatheaters. Intense, deadly, devastating. She stepped with him, following his lead into the room; he quickly scanned the space, signalling her to stay in her position with a carefully placed hand behind his back. She held her position at the door, wand following his footsteps. He glided through the room with a heavily practiced aristocratic swagger, eyes glancing over every square inch. The room was brighter, it held a window facing the artificial moonlight, allowing a glow to illuminate several empty bookshelves, a decommissioned fireplace sat in the centre of the wall closest to Hermione. The floors were relatively bare, a few wooden chairs scattered on their sides and a bureau tipped on its back seemed to be the only furniture in the room.

“Revelio.” Draco whispered, wand pointed towards the bureau. Nothing. He tried the fireplace, nothing. He tried the bookshelves, nothing. Hermione glanced around her, casting on anything she found to be remotely suspicious, no movement, no traps, nothing.

“This one must be empty.” Malfoy muttered, confusion ripe on his tongue.

She took another glance at the room, her brain focusing on the flipped furniture. The positions were random, meaningless, as if they’d been flung around the room and this was their resting place. Hermione spinned, the atmosphere around her suddenly changing.

“Malfoy, move!”

Before he had the chance to respond, the room flipped on its side. Hermione managed to jump in time and found herself now standing on the wall that was previously behind her, Malfoy had been thrown into the air, landing with a thump as the furniture slid towards him. Hermione immediately cast a slowing charm, the velocity of the furnitured decelerating, giving Malfoy enough time to stand.

“It’s gonna happen again, be prepared this time.”

“When you next say move Granger, you may want to specify the direction.” His voice was still a whisper, yet it held a distinctive tone of annoyance as he cradled his elbow to his chest.

“There wasn’t enough time even if I had, it flipped as soon as I realised.”

“We should cast a finite, that’ll stop the flipping.”

“No, I imagine it has to flip to reveal the targets.”

She took a step towards him and audibly winced, she’d caused a light sprain in her ankle from landing on one of the deep panels embedded into the wall.  
He raised his head at her wince; all of a sudden he staggered towards her position. With his elbow still in his hand, his eyes roved over her entire body, searching for the cause of the wince. His shirt was still wet from the previous room and he finally seemed to notice, wiggling in discomfort. He held out his elbow, yelping from the pain. She cast a quick episkey on her ankle, hissing from the heat burning her skin.

“What happened?” He asked softly, his voice still funnelling directly into her ears.

“It’s fine now, only my ankle. Are you okay?”

He met her eyes, analysing something beneath her surface, then took a step closer. He’d closed the little space between them before Hermione had blinked her confusion away. His breath came down heavy from his position above her; he was clearly in pain. Then something broke within him, the silvery concentration shattered behind his eyes. He stretched his elbow out once more, silently wincing.

“Granger, can you heal this? It’s my wand arm.” A soft voice uttered in her ear. Her hearing was deceiving her, there was no way on earth Malfoy would willingly submit himself to her magic; yet when she looked toward him, his arm outstretched in her direction, his expression was filled with pain and sincerity. He wanted her help, it shocked her. Surely she was still a mudblood in his eyes, yet he was asking for her aid, requesting she use her magic on his body. Where was the inflated arrogance she once knew? She’d known his animosity had subsided some after his behaviour on their first day, but had assured herself it was his idea of civility. This was different. He was different. It hit her like a tonne of bricks, though the change should’ve been obvious, he had certainly been quieter, more reserved, more controlled, she had assumed it was fuelled by the embarrassment of attending mandatory training as part of his sentencing. The way he looked at her now, eyes almost begging, a softness that was genuine and true. She held his gaze as her breath caught in her throat. His expression tensed whilst his eyes softened. He wasn’t breathing. They were simply staring at each other, barely a foot apart. It was as if he knew it too, a congregation of unspeakable apologies glittering in his eyes, this was his submission to her; he was allowing her to hold him at her disposal. He was showing her the difference in himself, it was astounding and impassioned. She had seen it the day he threw Harry his wand, the day he’d refused to identify them at Malfoy manor. The expression of a hanging man, confused and conflicted. Where there was once otherness, a quality of merciless destruction, lay a sorrow so bitter it almost choked her.

There were expressions that could eat you whole, this was one of them.

October 6th 1999

It was painful to look so deeply into her, to tinker so closely to the edge of his desires. It was also easy, natural. They hadn’t spoken in what felt like several minutes, simply studying each other. She was trying to figure him out, that much he knew, and he let her. He let himself show what he couldn’t say, laying what was left of his pride before her, ready for her to dismantle. He rather wanted her to hurt him, as he had done countless times to her in the past. He opened himself to her, a series of apologies and thanks stuck in his throat, ready for her. She could break him wholly and he wouldn’t mind. ‘ _Have your revenge, Granger. Let me show you how sorry I am.’_ Her expression was dazed, blinded with surprise. She gently grazed his arm with her wand, finally breaking his gaze to heal his broken elbow. The pain shot through his body, yet he didn’t break his stare; he simply waited for her to take his heart in her hands and squeeze out the life.  
Suddenly, the room shifted once more. She stepped away from him, shaking her head in what looked to be disbelief and preparing to jump. He managed to step onto the emerging floor in time, still blindsided from their interaction. He flexed his arm, the repaired bones clicking into place as he and Granger managed the sliding furniture with a series of charms. They didn’t speak or meet eyes again until the room had returned to its original state.

  
A squeaking noise erupted from the barren fireplace, startling him. He cracked his neck, attempting to reenter his state of concentration. In his previous skirmishes during Voldemort's hayday, he had learnt a lot about the appropriate demeanour one should have during close-quarters battles. His body had instinctually sank back into that state the minute he had entered the door, his concentration narrowed on the task, his body overcome with the ruthlessness his father ingrained into him. He’d cleared both his rooms within ten minutes of entering, barely noticing the weather jinx that soaked his shirt in water. The only interruption to his state of engrossment was her. The pain of his broken elbow was minor compared to the sting of worry he’d felt when the room flipped. He was almost nauseated when he heard her wince. He couldn’t help becoming entranced when he’d neared her, attempting to find the source of her pain, instead bewitched by the pink of her lips after she’d bit them in worry.

  
Before he had righted himself, Granger had managed to find the source of the squeaking. A training dummy had emerged from the fireplace and she’d eradicated it with a practiced ease. She cast a quick finite before retreating from the room, moving past him as if he was simply a piece of furniture. He met her once again in the hallway, he’d clearly made her uncomfortable.

“Let’s just go Granger, we’ve got two more floors.”

“Fine.” She didn’t look in his direction before clambering up the wooden staircase at the end of the hallway. She managed to put enough space between them for Draco to know he’d overstepped. He hung back, fearing he’d make her even more uncomfortable. He cast a drying charm on his shirt, rolled back his shoulders and pulled the small restraint he’d decided to use that day to the forefront of his mind.

There were only two rooms on the second floor, one was significantly larger than the other so Draco opted to clear it first. It was a bedroom, a circular bed lay in the centre of the floor, two floor to ceiling windows let in the fake moonlight Potter had charmed. Besides the large curtains that encased the bed, the room was barren. Draco had barely taken two steps into the room before the door slammed shut. He felt an object zoom past the side of his head, too quickly for him to see. Then another, the other side. He spun ferociously as he attempted to find the source, he felt a tug on his wand and lifted it towards the moonlight to find several pixies trying to steal it. He shook them off, stunning several at once whilst narrowly avoiding others. Abruptly, a large circle of dust began to swirl into the form of a knight from the far corner of the room. The dust knight clambered toward him, wielding a large war hammer. He violently rid himself of the remaining pixies, throwing them against the adjacent wall as the dust knight ran in his direction. It raised its hammer, Draco swiftly ducked, the weapon collided with the wall behind him, reducing the Knight to a pile of dust once more. The dust began to rise again, he quickly vanished it, then cast a freezing charm on the rest of the pixies. Before he had time to right himself, three training dummies emerged from the circular bed; entrapping him in a ring as they rushed around him. One took a swing at his face and another simultaneously swiped at his legs, he fell on his back as the dummies closed in, their wooden limbs thrashing. He managed to freeze one from his position on the floor, which caused another to crash into it, collapsing on top. The final dummy rushed toward him, opening the casing of it’s torso and unleashing a thick brown sludge that hit Draco square in the chest.

“Bombarda!”

The dummy burst into splinters.  
Draco pulled himself from the floor, caked in a brown sludge that surprisingly smelled like chocolate cake. He cast a cleaning charm on his shirt before heading toward the next room.  
He stopped in the corridor, trying to listen for any signs of struggle from Granger upstairs. It was completely silent.

“Granger?” He spoke into his microphone.

No response.

“Granger if you don’t respond, I’ll have to assume you’re unable meaning you’ll force me to check your status.”  
Still no response. A thick state of panic began to bubble inside of him.

“Hermione?”

Silence.  
He quickly ascended the stairs, finding two sets of doors. A faint clanging came from the right side; he shoved through the giant wooden doors. He burst through to find Hermione, writhing on the floor in pain. Screams of mutilation filling the surrounding air. He almost vomited. She screeched, an ear shattering volume, bones colliding with the wood before turning to look into his eyes.

“Please Draco.”

The screams continued, he fell to his knees immobilised by panic.He stared in despair as his recurring nightmare played over and over. She squirmed and twitched endlessly, her wails filling his ears; encircling him with terror. She flipped onto her side, screeching into the floorboards. He couldn’t help, he couldn’t even see what was hurting her, he simply watched her body contort itself in pain. His worst nightmare confronting him, he was paralysed by fear. Her mouth open, face fixed in a rictus of pain. He could do nothing but watch as she writhed in agony, screams seemingly never ending. A memory of enfer, plucked straight from his nightmares, his worst fear performed for him once more. She was exactly the same as she had been that day, down to the clothing; the carving in her arm leaking fresh blood. He had seen this scene before.

It was as if the figure of Hermione could hear his thoughts, as soon as he questioned the legitimacy of his predicament the screaming subsided. Hermione’s contorted body turned towards his, the most sinister smile he’d ever seen gracing her pink lips. The figure recoiled swiftly, sinking into a set of drawers at the far end of the room, locking itself in. A boggart. It was a boggart. It wasn’t real. But if that wasn’t her then where was she? He steadied his breathing before standing, desperately clinging to the little occlumency he had allowed himself to use that day. His breath was still shuddering, but his mind was slowly clearing with every repetition of ‘ _It’s not her, it wasn’t real’_ , like a prayer for clarity.

“Homenum Revelio.”

No sign of her.

“Granger, can you hear me?”

A faint crackle in his ear.

“Granger? Where are you?”

He spun towards the door, intending to search the second room; instead he found Hermione stood in the doorway, pale and aghast.

“Where were you? I’ve been calling for you, I thought something had-”

“Was that me?” Her breath shuddering in disbelief.

She had seen it all.

He stared back at her, expecting to find anger in her amber eyes; yet all he found was sorrow. He racked his head for an explanation, a way to explain without revealing his affections. Instead he stuttered on the few words his mouth attempted to release. Her beseeching eyes searched for an explanation, he was unable to offer one.

“I don’t understand.”

Finally words escaped him.

“It-it was a boggart, I don’t know why…”

Her bewildered expression began to soften; yet her eyes still held the presence of disturbance.

“We should finish up.”

“Right.”

She turned on her heel, towards the other room. Draco could hear the faint whispers of disbelief and shaking breaths she took to calm herself through the microphone until they were abruptly cut off. The traumatism of the events bubbled in his blood, he balled his hands into fists, focusing on the pain of his nails in his palm to calm himself. He shook his entire body, ridding himself of the fear that had perplexed him moments ago. Before he finally left the room of nightmares he turned towards the chest of drawers that held the boggart.

“Reducto.”

October 6th 1999

Distress swallowed her whole.  
She fell against the wall, casting a muffliato on her microphone as she had earlier to hide her irregular breaths of panic. She pulled her knees to her chest, her hands sinking into the curls at the top of her head.  
She was his boggart.  
Her torture at Malfoy manor was his worst fear.  
It didn’t make sense, nothing about him made sense anymore.  
She thought back to a page falling open to her, her eyes scanning familiar words and digesting them as if they were meant for her.

I have not the pleasure of understanding you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, first of all thank you so much for comments and kudos. I appreciate them all.  
> Smaller chapter this time hope you all enjoy!


	7. VII

October 6th 1999

The day had moved at an insulting pace, she’d left the training room with Malfoy in a deafening silence that continued for the rest of the day. Harry had planned a long winded explanation of how to fill out paperwork for the afternoon; Hermione was surprisingly thankful for it, as it allowed her to sit as far away from Malfoy as she could. She felt his eyes on her several times during the presentation, she even heard him call her name after Harry dismissed them for the day. She’d almost sprinted from the building to get to the apparition point, tumbling over when she fell at the steps of Grimmuald place. She’d ran straight to her room, the lack of furniture forcing her to flop onto the bed with anger. 

Ten cigarettes later, Hermione was racking her brain for explanations. The disgust of seeing herself tortured before her eyes had subsided some, confusion taking its place. She was his boggart. His greatest fear, and he’d admitted it to her. He could have played it off by telling her he didn’t know what it was, but instead he confessed it. Why? It didn’t make sense. He didn’t make sense. Hermione had never thought about what Draco Malfoy’s greatest fear was, if she had to take a guess it would be Voldemort or one of his lackeys, he’d shown a disdain for werewolves in their Defense against the Dark Arts lessons, that would be a logical assumption. Instead it was her, or more importantly her torture, why? She couldn’t fathom a legitimate reason. 

As the night grew colder, Hermione’s train of thought grew more disoriented, was it because she had begged for his help? Perhaps he was punished because he couldn’t identify Harry, and his fear was the punishment? If so, why would the Boggart take her form? She had so many questions, yet she refused to venture to the only place she would receive answers. There was no way she could ask Malfoy; she never wished to acknowledge it again in his presence. His behaviour was nothing short of odd. She remembered the fluttering in her stomach as he’d stared into her eyes with a passion that had shut down her brain, but why? Why would he want anything from her? She knew nothing of his intentions, his desires, his motivations; he was an unknown, yet she was obsessed. She’d admitted to herself a long time that the yearning she felt for him would most logically be classed as an obsession, it wasn’t right to call it love, no matter how much Ginny protested. It only struck her that night that she was obsessed with a stranger. He was a haunted house, the ghostly figures of his younger self still swam faintly behind his eyes yet his demeanour was quiet, controlled; trapping the juvenile, crueller versions of himself inside. Was he aware of his difference? Was it purposeful? Another series of questions she wished to remain unanswered, another cigarette, another round of incessant pacing.

A knock on her bedroom door shook her from the inquisitive daze she found herself in.

“Hermione?” Harry said, his voice slightly muffled through the old wood.

She wandlessly flicked open her door, greeting a fatigued Harry with a cloud of cigarette smoke.

“You okay?”

She paced toward her window, reaching for her cigarette packet from her bed. She duplicated the final cigarette with a Geminio charm, refilling her pack. Placing one in her mouth, she threw a nonchalant shrug in Harry’s direction.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“What is there to talk about?” She said as she lit her cigarette with the end of her wand. 

“Malfoy told me what happened. He’s fairly distressed about the whole thing, he’s requested a new partner.”

“Oh he’s distressed is he? That makes sense.” She was never the best at sarcasm.

Harry moved to sit at the edge of her bed, glancing around her room.

“Have you noticed how strange he’s behaving Harry? I can’t decide if he’s embarrassed or regretful or pitiful or placid; or if he’s all of those things combined.”

“We’re all different now,Hermione.”

She took a long drag on her cigarette, its warm air filling her throat, before rubbing her brow with her fingertips in confusion.

“He makes no sense. I mean, who is he anymore?”

“He’s definitely still Malfoy, that was obvious when I spoke to him.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry sighed and tapped the space next to him on the bed, signalling Hermione to sit. She crossed the room, taking the place next to him, pulling at her fingers anxiously. 

“I can’t split you up as partners, Hermione. I told him the same thing. The other recruits are not exactly shy when it comes to telling me how much they hate Deatheaters. The two from Hogwarts are fine, but I can’t trust them in a combat situation with him. Reven, Jenet, and Calily hate him, I haven’t told you but they’re Robards’ nephews so I guess hatred for the Malfoys’ runs in the family. I have to be fair to every recruit, including Malfoy, but it’s not easy when people would rather quit the program than work with him. I’m really trying. I don’t forgive him for a thing, but I know how valuable he is and I’m thankful for what he’s done for me- for us all. When I told him all this he gave a perfectly normal Malfoy response.”

“Which was?”

“Fuck off Potter.”

Hermione tried her hardest to suppress a giggle, there seemed to be some Malfoy left when it came to Harry. He gave her a weary half-smile. 

“He told you about the Boggart?”

“Uh-huh. I can’t say I understand it.”

“It was me Harry, just me. After Bellatrix had tortured me, I- I was begging him that night, begging him for help” She swallowed hard, tossing the remnants of her cigarette into a glass ashtray on her bedside table. 

“Did he tell you anything else?”

“No, you?”

“No. I couldn’t even think of what to ask him.”

“I don’t want to know why Harry. I mean that. I never want to speak of it again, especially not with him.”

“I’m sorry Hermione but he has to stay as your partner, there’s nothing I can do.You’re the only one I trust.” His voice was ripe with exhaustion, his shoulders were slumping with tiredness. She nudged herself closer to Harry, pulling his arm through her own.

“Okay.”

  
  


October 6th 1999

“Pans?” 

Draco had apparated to Diagon Alley, specifically outside Madam Malkin’s, in hopes of finding a drinking partner. His mother would disapprove of drinking on the second day of his work, he didn’t care, he needed a distraction. A black bob shot up from behind a railing at the sound of his words.

“Draco? What’s wrong?”

“We’re drinking.”

“Draco, I’m a little busy here.” 

As her body moved into his view, he saw her arms were completely covered by various rolls of fabric, unravelling and spooling against her chest. Madam Malkin gave a glee filled gasp from behind Pansy, shoving past her to bring Draco in for a kiss on each cheek.

“Madam, please forgive me but would it be alright if I borrow Pansy for the evening? We’ve rarely seen each other.” He said in the most distinguished drawl he could muster.

Pansy was giving him a warning stare from behind Madam Malkin, eyes almost bulging out of her shaking head.

“Oh Draco my dear, of course! Pansy can just come in extra early to finish up tomorrow.” The small witch replied.

Pansy slammed her fabric onto the counter, taking her belongings from behind it. She crouched to give her boss a kiss goodbye, Draco swore he heard the shop owner whisper “5am sharp” through their disingenuous polite goodbye. Pansy turned towards Draco, mouthing a small “I'm going to kill you” before marching out of the front door; he smiled one last time to Madam before following. The cool air of October was helping soothe the burning of stress inside of his mind, Pansy looped her arm through his. 

“Is everything okay? Are you wanting to come to the manor? I can send for Blaise?”

“No- no I just want to go to the leaky cauldron or something. I’d rather we talk alone if that's okay.” He reassured her. Despite his close bond with Theo and Blaise, he considered Pansy to be his best friend and had for several years now; he could say anything to her and she’d listen. She had a way of digging to the root cause of problems, she’d refuse to end a conversation until she was confident she’d solved whatever issue Draco was annoying her with. It hadn’t been that way since school, of course, yet he yearned for someone to ground him, comfort him; he wanted familiarity, Pansy was the only thing that felt the same anymore. 

“What is it, Draco?” Her concern was growing.

“I’ll tell you when we arrive.”

Keeping their heads low, they swiftly walked in the direction of the leaky cauldron. It was a quiet day, few bodies surrounding them, so it took no time at all to arrive at their destination. The leaky cauldron was as deserted as the rest of Diagon Alley: one wizard at the bar and another in the far corner. Opting for privacy, Draco grabbed Pansy’s hand and dragged her toward the booth farthest from the entrance, still keeping his head down. The old wood creaked as he slipped onto the bench. The pub still looked as it had in his younger days, the only change being the absence of the large table in the centre of the room. He faintly recalled Fenrir Greyback bragging about throwing some students straight through it. Pansy had made a beeline for the bar when Draco had released her hand, she was now walking towards their booth with a bottle of firewhiskey and two small tumblers. 

“I still have some of that hangover potion you gave me in my bag, Theo usually sleeps his off.” She said as she jingled the bottle and glasses in her hands. She wore a tight smile, it was obvious his vagueness had worried her deeply. Pansy Parkinson was almost never nervous, except when she was scared. He felt immensely guilty.

“Pansy, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to worry you. Everything is fine, nobody is dying. I just- I’ve had a really rough day at the auror thing and I need to talk to someone that isn’t my mother.”

Pansy’s shoulders fell in relief at his words, her delicate fingers pulling the cork from the Firewhiskey bottle. She was a beautiful witch now, her face had been rather squashed together in their younger years, now she wore glamour like an accessory; perfectly pristine in all matters. Her fingernails were always immaculately coloured with a deep green, her lips a bright red, her hair was sleek and styled even when she’d rise from her bed to collect Theo in his drunken state. Draco couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d have been happy with Pansy, he’d certainly be happier than he had in the last three years, if only their hearts didn’t belong to other people; they could have had a simple life. The thought quickly slipped from his mind as she clicked her dainty fingers in his face, the firewhiskey filling their glasses by itself.

“Draco?” She said, still clicking.

“What?”

“I asked you about your day? What’s got you so shook up?”

He had a choice, a crossroad coming to life in his mind. Two paths, honesty or hiding, he’d either wallow in self-pity for eternity, unable to express the reason for his sorrow or tell one of his only friends he’d spent five years pining after someone so unreachable that it burned to say her name.Honesty or hiding. He looked into his friend's face, her brows lifted in inquiry. Truth or lie. 

“If I tell you something, you can’t tell anyone. I know this sounds like I’m five years old but I need you to swear you’ll tell no one. Not Theo, Blaise or any other person in existence, okay?” He decided.

“I’m not going to swear until I hear it, if it involves my boyfriend I won’t keep it from him.” She assured, folding her arms in a defensive manner.

“Pans, I love you both but spare me your lovebird shit for this evening only. It has nothing to do with Theo, or Blaise or any evil plan a certain dark lord has. I promise, it’s just-it’s something stupid.”

“Oh my god.” She dropped her tumbler of firewhiskey on the table in glee disbelief.

“What?” She couldn’t possibly know, could she?

“It’s okay Draco, Theo told me a while ago but I didn’t believe him. I can’t believe he figured it out before me.” She took his hand with a sincere smile.

“How does Theo know?” Was he that obvious?

“He told me that’s why you broke up with me. I should’ve figured it out myself. I mean the amount of girls you would turn down without a second glance, we could’ve found you a boyfriend years ago! I know for a fact Roy Bringet from our year was gay and he was cute too-”

“Pansy, I’m sorry to disappoint you but I’m not coming out. I’m not gay. Fucking Theo.” He wondered whether her reaction would be so understanding when he told her the truth.

“Aw damn it. I could’ve sold off dates with you, you’d be a catch. Are you sure? You’re not just saying-”

“-I'm sure Pans, I can’t imagine the truth will make you happy but I’ve just been holding it inside for so long. I need you to promise not to say a word, to anyone, ever. ”

“Okay Mr Dramatic I promise. Now spit it out.” She said, smiling as she brought her glass to her lips.

He swallowed his reservation, closing his eyes and breathing steadily. This was the first time he would say it aloud. 

“For several years now, I’ve been infatuated with” He coughed, preparing his throat for the fire of her name on his lips “with Granger, Hermione Granger. I know it may come as a shock to you and you may think I’m disgusting or whatever you think. I only need someone to know because she’s in the Auror training programme and I can’t… I just- I can’t…”

He risked a glance at the witch across from him, her glass was lazily suspended from her slender wrists, her eyes were hyper focused on the grain of the wood separating them. The awkward silence wrapped around his neck, squeezing tighter with every second she ignored his presence. 

“Pans, say something pl-”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” She still hadn’t tore her eyes from the tabletop.

“I can’t even explain. It started as just a teenage thing but now it's just debilitating. I can’t- I don’t know how to deal with it.”

A silent Pansy Parkinson was a dangerous one, Draco was unable to tell whether he should apparate on the spot or try to explain. He knew this was a bad idea. This was the first time he’d ever told anyone, ever spoken the words aloud, ever admitted it to himself. His heart, so recently ruptured in the name of confession, was pumping sickly anticipation around every inch of his body at a horrendous pace. He waited for Pansy to move, to say something, anything. 

“I don’t understand.” She finally looked up to meet his stare, her brown eyes drilling into his for an explanation. 

Draco spent the good part of two hours confessing everything; how his eyes would seek her out in every room he entered, how choosing his family over saving her from torture had left him an empty shell of the man he once was, and finally of the disastrous incident with the Boggart earlier that day. The most Pansy would contribute was a snort or a quick roll of her eyes, before signalling him to continue. He’d quickly glazed over the heavy sexual fantasies, checking in with Pansy every so often to make sure she wasn’t as uncomfortable as he was. In the end, he felt something close to relief, a weight had certainly lifted. His Occlumency walls were tickling with uselessness, as if his brain was attempting to tempt him back into his hole of dejection. 

The bottle of firewhiskey was noticeably low by the end of his explanation. Pansy whipped her wand from underneath the table, levitating the empty bottle and a Galleon towards the empty bar for a refill. She sat up straight, clearing her throat and laying her hands delicately on the tabletop. 

“Well Draco, I’d say you’re fucked.” She stretched out her arm to grab the returning bottle of firewhiskey; immediately filling her glass and taking a hurried gulp.

“I know.”

“I mean, Granger? You really have to choose the one woman who probably hates you more than anyone else? Isn’t she with Weasley? And what did you mean when you said you’ll never like anybody else? You can’t seriously expect anything from her? I mean, this is Granger we’re talking about.”

“I know all that. I know it’ll never happen. I don’t expect it to. I want to get over it, believe me I’ve tried. I was doing well last month, I’d barely thought about her, then I walk into that training room and I’m a bigger wreck than I’ve ever been. And after today I just- I can’t face her. She might even know how I feel after seeing that Boggart. I tried to call after her, to explain, she just ran straight out of the building without turning back. If I go back tomorrow, I’ll collapse in on myself. If I don’t go back, Potter will be barging in my front door with a pair of cuffs, ready to whisk me to Azkaban.”

“So what do you need me for? Advice on how to get in her swotty pants?” Pansy sneered over her glass. 

He sunk his head into his hands, pushing the shame exuding from himself back into his skin. Banishing the inappropriate images that popped into his mind at the mere mention of Grangers’ pants.

“You’re not seriously blushing right now? Draco, what the fuck is going on?” She slammed the table in disbelief. 

“Im sorry Pansy.” He muffled through his hands, still glued to his face. 

“This is pathetic. You are pathetic. I mean seriously, Granger? She has all the sex appeal of a librarian, actually I’m wrong, Pince was a million times sexier. This is besides the point. You’re going to march into that room, with your head held high; if she asks about the Boggart make something up, some boring Voldemort bullshit y’know? Like maybe you were forced to play with that weird snake because you didn’t identify Potter, or you were tortured or something.”

“I was tortured.” He said, lifting his head to sip on his firewhiskey. 

“Bingo! There we are, tell her it was a real bad day for you-” She pointed her fingers at him in a dramatic flair. 

“-it was a terrible day for me.” He agreed. 

“-okay, whatever. Point is, tell her to mind her business and leave you alone. As for getting over her, I have no idea. I mean... I'm still in shock, Granger? Are you sure?I suppose I can see it, you’re both smart I guess, pretty cocky too now that I think about it. You’d be a better match than Weasley that's for sure.” She scrunched the side of her mouth, seemingly analysing the compatibility of Draco’s infatuation. 

“Pansy, please don’t indulge this fantasy.” 

“God, you’re in too deep.” She scoffed. 

He sighed, finally feeling the heat of the firewhiskey hitting his head. His thoughts began to blur slightly. 

“I’ve tried everything, my occlumency doesn’t work. It makes me too angry at her which makes me all…” he gestured wildly to himself. 

“Hot and bothered?” Pansy asked, arching her pristine eyebrow. 

He hummed in agreement. 

“I know you don’t want to indulge, but is she giving anything back? On the hot and bothered side? I mean sex is way better when both parties are angry at eachother. I hated Theo at first and the sex during that time was incredible, I mean like mind numbingly incredible..”

“-okay thanks Pansy, that’s enough. Definitely regular hate on Granger’s part, there’s no indication of anything further.”

They sat drinking for several hours, Draco would tend to Pansy’s enquiries, Pansy would call him pathetic, both of them had drunk at least twenty glasses of firewhiskey by the time it hit Eleven o’clock. Pansy left a few sickles on the table as they rose to leave. The haze of drunkenness forced Draco to grapple the wall in order to maintain his balance. Pansy seemed almost completely unaffected by the large amount of alcohol she had consumed, barring the odd hiccup. Pansy looped her arm through Draco’s, pulling him from the empty pub. Diagon alley was slick with the remnants of an October rainfall, the cold air enveloped Draco’s face, providing an extra layer of redness to his drunken flush. 

“I could casually ask Weasley if they’re still together if you’d like. I see him quite often when I’m opening the shop.” Pansy’s offered quietly, being careful to keep her words close to his shoulder. 

“That wouldn’t help Pans, if they’re not my mind will race and that’s not good for anyone.” His free hand flayed widely like an upset child as they began to stroll down the empty street. 

“Would it help if they are still together? Perhaps you’d be able to cope with it better if she’s fully unattainable.”

“No. That wouldn’t work. Last time I thought about them… together, I had a bit of a meltdown. I just need to forget about her compl-” he hiccuped, thumping his chest with his fist “completely.” 

Pansy stopped their slow walk, grasping his shoulders to turn him toward her. 

“Draco, having to drag me to a bar for almost six hours to talk about her isn’t the actions of a man who wishes to forget. You can’t stay in this liminal state, you either have to say something to her or move on; you won’t be able to forget about her until you do.”

The sky above them erupted, heavy rainfall descending onto the still pair. The misty pastels of the clouds above congregated in the sky around them. 

“I-I can’t move on Pansy. I can’t look at anyone else without thinking of her. It’s like she’s poisoned me, she’s in my veins, every inch of me she’s everywhere all the time. I couldn’t touch anyone else knowing how-h-how I feel about her.” The rain hit his face forcefully, a punishment for his confession. 

“Draco-” Pansy started, but before she could offer words of comfort, Draco’s head fell heavily on her shoulder. The heat of the firewhiskey was propelling images of his desire, he could see Granger as his eyes closed; her gaze meeting his, her fingertips reaching out to touch him, smooth skin, cinnamon eyes, soft curls. His breathing became unsteady as he desperately grappled with his self-control. Pansy ran her fingers through his hair affectionately, whispering small comforts into his ear. 

“Let’s get you home, Draco.”

October 7th 1999

Hermione was determined to ignore the previous day entirely, the confusion was still alight inside her mind, yet she pushed it away in favour of her sanity. She’d determined that she’d have to have a small word with Malfoy, only to assure him that their partnership would remain civil on her end if they kept communication to a minimum unless necessary. Harry’s demeanor had propelled this notion of civility, Hermione didn’t wish to make his life any more difficult by fighting with Malfoy. She’d be civil, she wouldn’t mention the Boggart. She wouldn’t stare at him longingly or admire his form, she’d be civil. Her small speech to him had gone rather well when she’d practiced in the shower and mirror, she’d simulated their conversation several times to determine the appropriate level of politeness. She’d landed somewhere between rigid and professional before deciding to play it by ear. 

She got ready for her day, opting for a pair of riding pants she’d borrowed from her mother in her fifth year, she supposed they belonged to her now given that she’d never be able to return them. A small rap on her door shook her from the spiral of depressing thoughts she was about to head down. 

“Hermione? You ready?” Harry half yawned. 

“Coming!” Hermione responded, with an obviously insincere cheer. 

She decided to have her word with Malfoy outside of Harry’s jurisdiction, so when they arrived at the training centre, she immediately pulled out her cigarettes waving them in front of him before ducking into a nearby alleyway. She heard a few pops of apparition, but the jolly low voices of Robards’ nephews assaulted her ears before she had a chance to duck her head out. She inhaled deeply, attempting to focus her mind into a calm state. ‘Civil’, she reminded herself, ‘no ogling or inappropriate thoughts, just civility.’ She blew the harsh taste of tobacco smoke from her mouth, jumping when she heard the next pop of apparition. She craned her head around the corner, it was Wayne Hopkins, throwing a small red marble into the air, swiftly catching it with the same hand. 

“Looking for someone?” A low voice behind her. 

She span on the spot, almost colliding with his chest. Malfoy stood before her, as pristine as ever; his onyx shirt opened ever so slightly, allowing Hermione a small peak of his pale chest. He was staring down at the space between them, mindlessly fiddling with his cufflinks. She centred herself, leaning back against the brick wall of the alley and flicking the excess ash from her cigarette. Ready to recite her well rehearsed speech. 

“Good morning, Malfoy. I’d like a minute of your time, if that’s alright.”

His head snapped up, grey eyes instantly locking onto hers. 

“Alright.”

Hermione vanished the ends of her cigarette, pulling her eyes from his hypnotising stare, she straightened her shoulders and chose a spot behind his left shoulder to focus on. 

“For us to successfully progress with our Auror training we should attempt to be civil to each other. In order to do so, I’m willing to only converse with you when absolutely necessary for training.”

From the corner of her eye she saw his mouth turn up into a classic Malfoy sneer. 

“Will this entire conversation be over practiced drabble?” Malfoy hissed through his teeth. 

He’d thrown her off, though she had prepared for a hostile response, it was admittedly, over practiced drabble. Her eyes moved from the aged brick behind him to his face, his shoulders fell deeply in time with the release of his hot breath that tickled her cheeks. He looked familiar now he was sneering, and the familiarity drew her in, his domineering presence covering her entirely. Her brain disregarded any notion of civility, the scripts of speech shredding themselves inside her mind, forcing an embarrassing stutter to fall from her mouth. 

“If you’re so concerned about the ‘success’ of your training Granger, I’d suggest you ask for another partner. It seems Potter won’t listen to me, perhaps a tear or two from his golden girl will change his mind.”

His voice both comforted and devastated her. 

“That’s not an option Malfoy, I know Harry told you that. I just want to get this training over with, without disruption.”

“Stop pretending like this isn’t about what you saw yesterday.” He snapped, stepping in closer to her. 

She felt her heart slow to an uncomfortably imperceptible pace; she caught a whiff of his scent from the passing wind, a delicious blend of opulent spices and leather, reminiscent of an old bookshop she’d visit as a child. Her body was shaking with the intimate proximity, barely a foot between them, her back pressed up against the brick wall. He was close enough to touch, a step away from a kiss; the thrill of balancing on the edge of intimacy engulfed her. 

“And what did I see yesterday exactly?” She spoke softly. 

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” His voice was low and hushed, but not shameful; as if he was restraining himself, checking his words before allowing them to slip from his lips. 

“I can’t imagine why you would be scared of my torture Malfoy, so much so that it manifested in that Boggart. I can’t say I wish to know why, I’m sure you managed to take the worst day of my life and develop some self centred narrative around it.” Her voice was still low, yet she felt fiery anger beginning to rise in her throat with every word he uttered.

“You have no idea what that day was like for me. The world doesn’t stop when you leave a room, there are repercussions to your actions; I assume you and your friends are unaware of this, which is why you leave a path of destruction everywhere you go.”

“That's rich coming from you! I spent the good part of three hours cleaning up your destruction in front of the Wizengamot, which is why you’re even here in the first place! You think that day was hard for you? For you?! After I looked you in the eyes and begged you to help me, to stop her, to do anything but whimper in the corner like a child!” She couldn’t help raising her voice in response, tears began to prick the corner of her eyes. 

“I can’t believe you were naive enough to think I could help you. What did you expect, Granger? I’d disarm my aunt then you’d be saved? Or should I have killed her for you? She’d of killed me before I could even raise my wand. You and your friends survived that day because I lied for you, Potter survived because I helped him for you, and what did I get for it? Tortured until I could barely walk and then thrown in a cell. Apologies if my reaction underwhelms you but I’m not in the business of falling to my knees for a woman who has left my life in ruins for years.” His arms were flailing close to her face, the air from the quick movements softly blew her wild hair across her face, tears began to crawl down her cheek. His frustration had clearly increased the volume at which he spoke, Hermione quickly realised they were screaming at each other in the alleyway. 

“Are you kidding me Draco? You’re the one who left my life in ruins, before the war, before Voldemort, before any of it! You have no idea- I can’t even explain- You cannot expect me to understand any of this! You’re ridiculous, you sit in that room like an embarrassed child, yet when I try to offer any form of comfort to you, you lash out at me. I wanted us to be civil, to get through this training without any more issues, so you’ll never have to see or think about me again. Yet when I offer peace, you throw it back at me, what more can I do?” She yelled, pushing off the wall and shoving him away from her. His hand quickly grasped her wrist in a vice like grip, his cold skin burning her own. 

  
“I would do anything to not think about you again, Granger. I don’t expect you to be civil towards me. I have no expectations for you. I know it's outside of your nature to understand someone like me. I’m just a Deatheater after all. I know what you’re thinking when you look at me. What was it that you said to the Wizengamot again? Something along the lines of ‘he’s a misguided child’, you can save your pity, I don’t want it. I don’t want your resolutions, I’m not here to flatter your saviour complex. I’m not here to help your idiotic collegues and the plethora of hopeless war veterans.” He sneered down at her, almost grinning with red hot anger. 

  
“Then what are you here for?”   
  


Something subconsciously flashed in the grey of his eyes, like a star collapsing in on itself, the light spreading violently. He released her wrist, his breath was still heavy on her face but the mask of anger he’d worn just seconds before was slowly slipping. 

She turned away from him, unable to stand the proximity and longer; feeling infinitely disheveled from his touch alone. She reached into the pockets of her jacket, pulling a cigarette from the packet to her lips. To her surprise, he was still there when she glanced over her shoulder. She felt him step closer to her back, she flinched at the gravel under his boots scraping with his movement. 

“What do you want from me, Granger?” He spoke softly, his mouth a breath away from her ear, the heat of his body exuding itself onto her. 

She took a shaky inhale, closing her eyes to halt the barrage of tears that were attempting to escape. Before she had a chance to process his question, cold air hit her back. He had disappeared. She turned to confirm her suspicion, finding herself alone in the cold streets of London. Hermione clutched her chest, attempting to steady her breathing, throwing the untouched cigarette to the ground as she sank to her knees. She sobbed quietly against the cold brick wall of the alleyway. She couldn’t risk seeing him again today, she needed time to reconcile and analyse his words. She sent her Patronus to Harry with a half assed sick note and apology, before apparating to Grimmuald place and sinking into her warm bed until nightfall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, once again comments and kudos are hugely appreciated. Thank you to those who have already left them.  
> Happy reading!!


	8. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW/ mild torture and gore

30th March 1998

“Ah, Mrs Malfoy! As radiant as ever.” A snarled voice behind the tall wrought iron gates spoke. A slender woman approached, stopping when she could see each of the struggling figures behind the broad man panting at her gates.

“Greyback, I assume there’s a reason you’re disturbing us at this hour?” She cautioned, her eyes catching on a young girl writhing in the arms of a particularly brutish snatcher. 

“Oh yes there is, I thought we could put your boy to good use for once, need him to identify these three; They say they’re from Hogwarts. I'm certain that this is Potter’s mudblood; I don’t trust those crones at the ministry but I know your sister will let me reap my rewards.” Greyback had pulled the girl against his chest as he spoke, licking her face from chin to temple. 

The slender woman nodded behind the gates before turning rapidly, only unlocking the gates once she reached the safety of her home. She left the door ajar for the group, rushing into her drawing room.

“Draco?” She asked in the darkness.

A pale face, sunken with exhaustion turned to face her. 

“Mother? Who was it?”

She moved toward him, pulling him in the direction of a small room across their hallway. An enervated man, hunched over his desk, shot up at the sound of his wife and son entering his study.

“Narcissa wh-”

“Lucius please, let me speak.”

A booming voice from the hallway, a mimicking tone “Yoohoo, Malfoys!” 

Narcissa lunged at the door of the study, pulling it ajar so only her head was visible. “A moment alone with my husband, if you please Fenrir. Take the guests into the drawing room, we’ll be with you shortly.” She hissed, closing the door once more. 

“Guests? Mother who is it?”

“Greyback has the Granger girl.” Narcissa felt her son tense beside her.

Lucius rose from his desk, a catlike grin forming on his face.

“This is it. We’ll be forgiven for this, let’s go; I’ll call him right now.” His voice was frantic.

“Lucius, stop.” Narcissa growled. She grappled for her son’s hand in the dim light of the study, his hands were as cold and rigid as ice.

“He wants Draco to identify her, he has two boys to be identified too.”

“No.” Draco whispered beside her.

“Son, this our chance at redemption.” Lucius said, his voice shaking with gleeful nerves. 

“I won’t do it.”

“Our son will not be dragged into this Lucius. If Greyback is wrong, he’ll blame Draco.” Narcissa argued.

A small rap on the door.

Lucius held his hand up to his wife, approaching the door. A small elf stood before him, pulling on its fingers skittishly. 

“Mistress Lestrange is asking for Master in the drawing room.”

…...

“Ah Lucius, good to see you.” Greyback drawled sarcastically, as all three Malfoys made their way into the now lit drawing room.

Draco drew deep breaths, his eyes seeking out the girl. She was on her knees, Greyback’s meaty hands pulling her curls into a fist at the back of her head. She found Draco’s eyes, he felt heat rise from his toes, wrapping every inch of his skin in a burning agony; it was her. Hermione writhed and wriggled as Greyback toyed with her, sneering down at her. Draco’s stomach twisted as he listened to the vile threats the werewolf hissed in her direction. 

“Draco, come to auntie Bella.” A giddy woman called from the centre of the room, peering down at the three prisoners on their knees. Draco looked toward Narcissa; she gave a tense nod before gently placing a hand on his shoulder, encouraging him forward. He felt his palms moisten with sweat, his breath grew more erratic with each step he took. Bellatrix outstretched her hand, grabbing his arm and pulling him close to her. 

“Now Draco, do you know who these two are?” She asked, pointing her wand towards the two young men: one with bright red hair, the other darker with a disfigured face. He took a brief second glance at the dark haired boy, puzzled as to what had happened to his face. 

“I don’t know, I can’t be sure.” He lied, keeping his gaze low.

“What about the girl?” Bellatrix shoved him towards Greyback.

Draco couldn’t look at her, Bellatrix kicked his knees to force him into Hermione’s eyeline. She was gasping in pain as Greyback pulled her head backwards by her hair. Draco felt her breath gliding across his cheeks, hot with fear. He risked a glance at her, but when he opened his eyes he choked on the palpable terror. 

“Well boy?” Bellatrix boomed close to his ear. 

“I can’t be sure- I- I don’t know them… I don’t know”

Greyback tightened his grip in Hermione’s hair, she squealed with the pain; never letting her gaze drop from Draco’s face.

“Bullshit! I recognise her from the daily prophet!” Greyback roared, shoving Hermione beneath his feet and pushing his boot into her back. Draco’s fingers twitched with rage, 

“If you recognise her Fenrir, why are you insisting my son identify her for you? So he can take the fall when the dark lord sees what a fool you are?” Narcissa hissed from the other side of the room. 

Greyback pushed his boot further into Hermione’s back, growling Narcissa’s direction.

“Enough!” Lucius boomed. 

Draco was suddenly pulled backwards, his arms instinctively reaching toward Hermione’s body before he righted himself, balling his hands into fists and cementing them at his sides.

A clatter from behind Bellatrix. She spun on her heel to find a snatcher wielding a sword.

…....

“How did you get it, how did you get that sword?” Bellatrix demanded, circling Hermione’s bound body on the floor beneath her.

Draco gripped the back of a leather chair, grappling with his occlumency. Narcissa watched him with weary eyes, following his distrubed gaze toward the still body of the girl. 

“I didn’t, please.” A quiet voice begged.

“LIAR! CRUCIO!” Bellatrix bellowed.

Hermione’s body squirmed in agony, the curse ripped through her; each bone in her body separating, it felt as if a thousand needles filled with poison were sinking into every pore of her skin. The echo of her bones thumping against the wooden floors nauseated Draco, he clutched his stomach, leaning against the chair. Narcissa moved over to him, holding him up by his shoulders.

“Draco, what’s wrong?” She whispered.

Lucius observed the pair from the back of the room, sneering at his son disapprovingly.

“How did you get into my vault mudblood?!” Bellatrix barked, finally dropping her wand.

Hermione’s body stilled slowly, she shook her head violently,

“I didn’t, we didn’t go into any vault.” She pleaded, her voice thick with tears.

Bellatrix growled, throwing another curse toward her.

Hermione howled, her fists pounding against the floor, her body throwing itself upwards as lightning rattled through every inch of her body. Burning, endless burning; she couldn’t speak, she couldn’t breathe, only writhe in the searing pain. 

Draco shoved away Narcissa’s comforting hand, finding it unfair that he was the one being consoled. He choked back a sob, feeling himself diminish from the sounds of her body burning. He looked toward her as Bellatrix released her once more. Hermione’s head fell in his direction, meeting his stare. He could see the agony in her eyes; they were once cinnamon brown and now they were entirely black, drowning him in a whirlpool of suffering, consuming him whole. He felt his body subconsciously jerk toward her, he almost collapsed over the chair in front of him.

“Please Draco.” Hermione whispered.

Draco whimpered, failing to calm the vicious waves in his mind. Narcissa shook nervously behind him, placing a soothing hand on his back. Lucius marched over toward a bar cart, pouring himself a firewhiskey then gulping it down and reaching to pour another.

“How dare you speak to him mudblood! Where did you get this sword!” Screamed Bellatrix, erratic with trepidation.

Ignoring the witch, Hermione focused her attention on Draco. His breath was shaking as he looked at her, his nostrils flaring, eyes wide. Hermione managed another plea to him before Bellatrix cursed her again.

As Hermione thrashed against the floor, Bellatrix pulled a glittering knife from a holster on her thigh before straddling Hermione’s frame.

…..

“Drop your wands!” Called Bellatrix, holding the knife, still soaked in blood against Hermione’s throat.

Harry and Ron dropped their wands. Narcissa gently tapped Draco’s shoulder, “Pick them up.” Draco scrambled to the ground, collecting the various wands.

“Draco, call him!” Bellatrix boomed.

Before he could dismiss her request, a creaking noise came from above. 

An elf on the ancient chandelier, unscrewing a clasp.

Bellatrix squealed, dropping Hermione’s unconscious body to the floor. Instinctively, Draco dove towards her, attempting to shield her. The chandelier crashed around them, splinters of glass embedding in his face; he was so close, his fingertips grazed the wool of Hermione’s jumper. Ron pulled Draco backwards, grappling with his legs, tearing into his pockets searching for a wand, before jumping over him toward Hermione and disapparating. 

October 9th 1999

Hermione had spent much of her day off reliving the night at Malfoy manor. Remembering the look in Malfoy’s eyes as she had pleaded to him. The distress of the day before had caused her to take another day off. Harry had checked in on her the night before, quickly retreating from her room once she cited ‘woman problems’. She hadn’t left her room in almost 28 hours, apart from using the bathroom and collecting a plate of spaghetti Neville had offered her, she paced for endless hours reciting Malfoy’s words back to herself. 

_“You and your friends survived that day because I lied for you, Potter survived because I helped him for you”_

She couldn’t help but rove over the words, hearing his voice again and again, trying to decipher his meaning. Though he could have meant nothing of it, the ‘you’ he spoke seemed to refer only to her. The way his eyes had widened with rage as he spoke it, the decadent pronunciation, it all sounded like he meant… No, he couldn’t have meant that. Why on earth would he do that for her? 

_“I’m not in the business of falling to my knees for a woman who has left my life in ruins for years”_

Her logical brain was stuck on his words, unable to find any meaning that wouldn’t be dismissed by the palpable anger she had felt radiating from him. She had so many follow up questions, so many things she would never get to ask. If she had ruined his life, why did he help her? Why would he sacrifice his life, the lives of his parents, to help her? 

Then there was that look in his eyes, the softness of his voice when she’d turned away from him, visibly upset. It was the same look he’d had when she was writhing on the floor of his drawing room, a repressed misery, only visible through the grey of his eyes. She paced the length of her room, rubbing the base on her palms over her temples. It was wishful thinking to presume Malfoy could have any sort of affections for her, she knew that, yet every part of her willed her to believe it. She needed another set of eyes, someone objective. 

There was a small tapping on her door, she pulled it open. As if she’d heard her thoughts, Ginny stood in her doorway with a mound of snacks.

“Harry told me you’re having ‘lady problems’ so I brought chocolate.” She smiled, stretching the offering to Hermione.

“Gin! You’re exactly who I need.” Hermione exclaimed, pulling her into the room and shoving her into a seated position on her bed.

“Oh god.” Ginny said, disposing of the various snacks on Hermione’s bed and rolling her eyes.

“What?” 

“You’ve got that look in your eye, the ‘please talk me down from this ridiculous theory I have’ look. Thank god I brought snacks, I’ll be here for hours”

Hermione stopped her pacing, looking toward Ginny. 

“Go on then.” Ginny quipped, sinking into a comfortable position on Hermione’s bed and plucking a chocolate frog from the pile behind her.

Hermione took her time explaining the intricacies of their recent interactions, Ginny gasped in all the right parts, consuming a large sum of the treats Hermione recalled belonging to her. 

“But when he said ‘for you’ it was like ‘for _you_ ’ does that make sense?” Hermione asked, gesturing to herself as she emphasised his words.

“It makes total sense.” Ginny muffled, her mouth full of food.

“But why would he do these things for me? He said he saved Harry for me, didn’t identify us for me? It makes no sense Gin, he looks like he wants to kill me most of the time.”

“Nah, he’s just broody. That’s probably his lusting face.”

“Ginny, he hates me. It’s obvious in every interaction we have, he might lose his way for a while but as soon as he remembers who I am, who he is, it’s like he restrains himself and then it's back to the same old Malfoy.”

“Hermione, you can’t ask me for an opinion then decide yours is correct after all. I’m the objective one remember?”

“Right.” Hermione agreed, flopping onto her bed beside Ginny before reaching over to grab a handful of butterscotch.

“Okay, maybe you’re right in the sense that he has to control himself around you, but isn’t that more evidence towards his feelings? Harry said Malfoy looked borderline depressed when he told him you’d gone home.”

Hermione sighed, she’d hoped Ginny would find some clarity on her behalf, yet all she had done was reinforce the unbelievable. They lay together for a while longer, discussing the various possibilities until they were disturbed by two loud cracks of apparition from the street below.

“Who could that be? Everyone’s at work” Ginny asked, sitting up from her relaxed position.

“Luna? Might have just been someone passing through” Hermione offered, sorting through the empty wrappers in search of exploding bon bons.

Ginny stood up sharply, making her way over to Hermione’s door to listen for more sound.

“Luna is at the apothecary stand, there are no other wizards in this neighbourhood. Who was it?”

A violent pounding on the front door interrupted their conversation, both Hermione and Ginny started, grabbing their wands and rushing down the stairs. The door pounded again as they reached the bottom floor, the old frame rattling with the erratic thuds. Ginny looked over her shoulder, nodding to Hermione before slicing her wand through the air, towards the doorway. The pounding subsided as the door creaked open. Ginny gasped, the door was shoved open by a towering figure. Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, breathless with a bleeding blonde girl in his arms.

October 9th 1999

_Earlier that day..._

Draco hadn’t seen her in over twenty four hours, and was shocked at how much the loss of contact had affected him. He never imagined she’d leave after their conversation, he’d never thought Granger would miss out on anything educational, especially because of him. He regretted his words, his anger; he’d clearly upset her,but more than that he regretted how close he’d let himself get to telling her everything. He was a slip of the tongue away from confessing his obsession, he’d prayed silently to himself that night that she wouldn’t catch on his words, wouldn’t think about how his eyes had flickered with desire when he looked at her. He’d spent a large portion of the last day thinking about her words, replaying the way his name fell from her lips, like it belonged there. There was something simple and comforting in her calling him Draco, after almost a decade of them being on a second name basis. He’d never heard her use it before, his name, it sounded melodic even under the heat of her anger. 

He’d spent her first day off being lectured by Potter on the proper methods of handling magical beings compared to wizards, it had taken all day. Today they’d lightly duelled before Harry had broken the group up for lunch, which is why Draco was wandering around Diagon Alley in search of his favourite childhood bakery. He turned into a dark alleyway across from flourish and blotts, thinking about the small relief he’d get from a warm cornish pasty, when suddenly he felt a thick smog hit his nostrils.

Chaos erupted before him, blood curdling screams, rubble flying at every angle, narrowly missing his head. There were several deafening explosions in the background, Draco tried desperately to make sense of the situation before him as he grappled for his wand from the holster on his arm. He scrambled forward, using the sleeve of his coat to shield his mouth from the thick smoke. The mess went on for miles, his feet ground on glass from the shop windows, he pushed away planks from obliterated market stalls before a booming hiss of fire engulfed a familiar building on the horizon. St. Mungos, burning to the ground behind hundreds of injured witches and wizards. Out of the flames of the hospital flew multiple black clouds of smoke, swirling around the fire, weaving between the exploding rubble and landing into the chaos. Deatheaters, in full uniform, killing every survivor. Before Draco could charge forward and put the little Auror training he had to good use, he felt a tug on his ankle. He looked down to find a pale hand outstretched from beneath the rubble, wrapped around him, pulling on his trouser leg. He sank to his knees, placing his head on the ground to find the survivor. A weary smile found his eyes. 

“I remember you.” The blonde witch coughed weakly.

“Lovegood. Hold on, I’ll get you out.” Draco panted, his breath lost to panic.

He rose to his feet, using his wand to levitate the larger pieces of rubble and wood from the spindly body of Luna Lovegood. The screams of dying Wizards drew closer to his position, the deathly green light now visible through the thick smog engulfing the demolished marketplace. He’d managed to clear the rubble over Luna’s chest, her distressed face was staring up at him. Something had hit her head causing her to bleed from her temple, there were small cuts along her arms and chest but as Draco moved the rubble from her stomach and legs she hissed in pain. There were several large shards of glass in the centre of her stomach, her right leg had been crushed below the knee by a large cluster of bricks. She’d die without treatment, yet the only wizarding hospital in the country was burning before his very eyes. 

“Lovegood, listen to me. Do you know any healers?” Draco asked as he crouched beside her.

“I can see why she likes you. Your face is less pointy now.” Each word from her mouth was punctuated with a weak cough.

The Deatheaters were closing in, Draco winced as a wizard running toward him was hit in the back by a rapid green light before falling to the ground.

“Lovegood, we need to go now. Tell me where to take you.”

“I’ll take us Malfoy, don’t worry.”

She placed her delicate hand on his arm. He looked over at the disorder in front of them one last time, faintly recognising the stature of one of the uniformed Deatheaters. The pang of familiarity in his chest was replaced by the tug of apparition, the scene around him changing to a quiet street. Luna howled in pain, the apparition had dislodged the shards of glass in her navel, her leg bled profusely on the white pavement they landed on.

“Where are we Lovegood? We need to get you to a healer.” The blonde witch was barely conscious, her face fixed in a state of pain. 

A low grumble behind him, two of the townhouses to his right opened up revealing a third in the centre. A Fidelius Charm, no doubt where she lived. Draco scooped the broken witch into his arms as she mumbled expletives of pain, running toward the newly revealed door and pounding on its frame. No answer.

“She’ll come.” Whispered Luna, “She likes you.”

He ignored her incoherent babbles in favour of pounding once again on the door, his hands caked in her blood. She had an hour before she bled out completely. He rattled the door again manically, thinking of anywhere else he could possibly take her just before a hatch clicked, he pushed the door open. Ginny Weasley stood, pale and aghast at the sight of him. He was on the verge of barging into the house when he saw her, Hermione; staring at him with horror stricken eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, its been a while!  
> Hope you're all still enjoying this story, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is my first fic! please leave kind criticism and let me know if this idea intrigues you!


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